Useless Things
by bicyclesarecool
Summary: "The useless days will add up to something...these things are your becoming." No one said that growing up was easy, but for struggling musician Bella, it seems damn near impossible. Luckily, with her friends, her music, and the hot barista across the street, she might not completely screw up her entire life. AH, exb, ooc. M mostly for language.
1. Chapter 1

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 _ **The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people's diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. These things are your becoming.**_

 **Cheryl Strayed, excerpt from** _ **Tiny Beautiful Things**_

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There are days when I wish I would've gone to college. Days that I wish I was sitting in an English class and living in a dorm with a stranger and finding a real future.

Instead, I took all the money I'd saved from working at the Diner and put a deposit on a room in a shitty house in a shitty part of Seattle while I tried to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with my life.

Today is one of those wish-I'd-gone-to-college days as the wind whips around my face and I've got half a piece of dry toast hanging out of my mouth. The bus should've been here eight minutes ago and my stomach growls, angry at having only been subsisting on bread and coffee the last few days because I was late on my part of the rent and Emmett had to cover the rest and I've been giving him every dime I can find. But it's fine, I've got a private lessons gig with some rich Amazombie's ten-year-old over in South Lake Union after I get off work tonight and I'll finally be able to get some groceries.

I glance at my watch for the millionth time and fidget with my hair under my beanie. I'd had to pull it into a low bun, not having time to tame the wild, matted curls because I'm running my usual five minutes late.

I haven't even thought about getting my haircut over the last few months, too busy with work and writing to bother. Now, though, I'm very aware of how heavy and ratty it's getting. Maybe Alice can do something with it this weekend. Maybe I'll just shave it all off.

The wind blows, cold air _whooshing_ into me again as the bus pulls up to the stop, that familiar smell of public transportation hitting me when the doors open.

The truth is, I love the bus, even though it drives me fucking crazy with its irregular schedule. It might just be my shitty neighborhood though because I've never had a late bus when I'm downtown. As I take my seat, I put my headphones on, these terribly big ones that my dad gave me years ago. They were his when he was growing up in the 70s but they sound the best. A little hazy but I like it that way.

My ride to Ballard is uneventful, everyone is on their way somewhere and not bothering much with each other. I listen to a couple of demos Mike and I had recorded last year, and I'm irritated by the way his tempo is just a little bit off. He was never much of a drummer, more interested in making out and getting high than he was about the music.

Maybe that's what my problem was, the reason he felt the need to move 3,000 miles away two months ago, our relationship ending with a screaming match in front of the airport and a "go fuck yourself" instead of a kiss goodbye.

I sigh, switching to some angry punk music to get him out of my head. Looking out the window, the city calms me down, the skyscrapers making me feel small. I love Seattle, I really do, but over the last few years houses have been torn down in favor of these ugly apartment and condo towers. People that have lived in neighborhoods like Ballard since the 50's are being forced out, unable to keep up with the rising cost that gentrification is creating.

It's depressing. I'd spent years idolizing this city from my small town, fawning over the music scene while I learned how to play as many instruments as I could.

But since I've been here—since the summer after my high school graduation—I've been struggling to find that magic I'd built up so much in my mind.

One shining beacon of light is Ballard Music, the shop I've been working at for the last couple of years. It's my heart and soul—I can't stop my smile every time I reach its storefront. The wooden window frames are painted a bright yellow and there are Christmas lights strung up year-round. Through the windows, you can see the rows of used CDs and records and instruments cover every inch of wall space. Vintage guitars, brand new trumpets, slightly used violins, you name it. Stepping inside, music's playing a little too loudly over the tinny speakers—today it seems that Shelly, the owner, is on an Etta James kick.

"You're late," a voice says from somewhere behind the sticker-covered counter. I sigh as I make my way over, finding Shelly sitting on the tile floor, sorting receipts.

"Alice could do that, you know," I tell her, a little concerned. Shelly's got a bad knee. And a bad hip. She glances up at me, rolling her eyes.

"I don't trust Alice with these. She's too up in the air. Too many drugs probably," Shelly mutters and I can't help but laugh.

"Says the lady who spent the 60's in San Francisco." She still dresses like it too, long flowing skirts, rings on every finger. Another eye roll.

"I don't pay you to harass an old woman, do I?"

"I do that for free," I say, grinning and Shelly clucks her tongue and ducks her head, but I see her smile. Shelly and I have a good rapport, and though she'll never admit it, I'm her favorite employee.

"Will you go make sure Alice hasn't fallen into a box or something? She's been in the back room for a while," Shelly calls as I'm already heading in that direction, shaking my head. Alice has thankfully not fallen into a box, but is successfully hidden behind a shelf of violins.

"What are you doing?" I ask and Alice jumps ten feet in the air, her hand flying to her heart.

"What the fuck?" she breathes, the curse word comical in her high, tinkling voice.

"You better get out there before Shelly brings in the drug dogs," I tell her with a grin. Alice throws her hands up dramatically.

Drama is Alice Brandon's middle name.

"Jesus Christ that woman has done more drugs than I can even name. She's paranoid. She's projecting her own faults onto me! You know I don't do drugs. Jasper's stoned most of the time and she doesn't say a single word to him."

"It's his Southern charm," I add. "It's distracting. She's sorting receipts, by the way."

"I _told_ her I would do it! I just needed like, a five-minute break from her nagging. Jesus Christ almighty," Alice mutters, frustrated, as she stomps her way through the door, back to the store.

"Love your outfit by the way," I call after her and without missing a beat, Alice throws a smile over her shoulder before continuing on her way. Alice is the epitome stylish in a way that says she doesn't overthink it. I've gone thrifting with her before and it's honestly incredible to watch. While I stick to my ever present oversized sweater, shirt, and overalls/jeans/sweats/anything that matches, Alice seems to go for anything at all if it catches her eye. Today she's got on what looks like a waitress' dress and bright purple tights, her small feet in ruby slippers that probably belonged to a child's Halloween costume. Her short, jet-black hair is in two buns on top of her head and her lips are painted to match her shoes.

I look down at my beat up Docs and torn jeans. It doesn't matter that I literally jumped out of bed into the first clothes I could find—this is my standard outfit, which is fine by me. I'm thankful I put on my favorite, wooly cardigan before I left- there's always a draft in the back of the shop during the colder months.

The bell above the door rings and I check my watch—my first lesson of the day must be here. I step into view of the front, spotting Paul and his mom, whose name I can never fucking remember.

"Hey, come on back," I call and head to my little booth across the way, sighing at the smudges on the glass windows that make up the front of it. Viola lesson last night, little sister drooled all over it while she watched her brother struggle through Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Inside, I hang my backpack up in the far corner and flip on my amp. Paul's an electric guitar lesson. Twelve years old and _loves_ learning Nickelback songs.

It's an hour of pure hell for me every Saturday morning.

Unpacking my guitar from where I'd left it the night before, I bump into the wall, effectively ripping the corner of one of my posters with my shoulder.

"Dammit," I mutter. It was one of my favorites—Taking Back Sunday from a gig they played in town a few years ago.

I don't get a chance to mourn it though because Paul is already sitting down, stiffly holding his beginner guitar in his lap.

"Let's see, where did we leave off last week?"

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Alice is sorting a new shipment of sheet music when I walk Paul to the door. As soon as he and his mom are gone, my shoulders slump and I drag myself over to her.

"What do you want?" she asks, not looking up from the Beethoven she's straightening.

"I just wanted to come say hi, jeez."

"Hi liar, what do you want?" I give her my best puppy dog eyes.

"Could I borrow a couple of bucks to go get a coffee? I'll pay you back tomorrow. Before you say no, keep in mind I just had to listen to Chad Kroeger sing about how you remind him of how he really is over and over and over and—"

"Please shut up and take my card. I want a scone and an iced mocha." Alice holds out her Visa and I take it gratefully.

"I love you, you're my world," I call as I back up towards the door, watching her shake her head.

Remember that gentrification thing I mentioned earlier? Yeah, it's happening across the street. Well, it has happened, or at least started to. _Margot's_ had the best creampuffs and cheap coffee but as of two weeks ago, it's officially a Starbucks.

Fucking Starbucks.

I've been trying to put off going in as much as possible but I've got a Nickelback/caffeine headache and there's no way I'll make it through the day without _something_.

So here I am, standing in line to order some shitty, too bitter coffee for far too much money in this weirdly sterile looking environment. The girl making lattes looks far too happy to be here and I'm relieved to see that the guy taking my order looks as miserable as I feel.

Miserable as he may be, he's hot no doubt. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, long eye lashes.

"What can I get for you?" he asks and though it's slightly monotone, his voice is nice. Deep. I wonder if he can sing. There's this song that I've been working on that would really do well with a harmony—someone on a lower register and—

A throat clears and my face turns red.

"Sorry, um, can I get a venti iced mocha, a chocolate chip scone and the biggest black coffee you have?"

He nods as I speak, his head bobbing with each item I list. I watch his hands, his long fingers. He'd have potential as a pianist. I hand over Alice's card but I'm too distracted and I end up practically flinging it to the floor behind him. He stares at me for a long moment while I stutter out another apology and then he finally swipes it and gives it back.

I want to bury myself under the floor but instead I walk away, pretending to be extremely interested in whatever's on my phone. I go on Facebook, just looking for something to do, to distract myself from the hot barista. I'm scrolling past statuses posted by people I went to high school with, talking about their midterms! and their super busy schedules! And how great! college is!

Ugh.

I'm about to just put my phone away and twiddle my thumbs or something but a new post pops up. A photo.

Of Mike with his arms around some blond girl, her mouth pressed to his face.

My stomach is sick and there's some jealousy burning in my chest. I dated him for like five years and he's already letting other girls kiss his cheek?

I click on her name. Jessica Stanley. Ugh, what a boring name. Let's see, from New Haven, Connecticut, has super fake blond hair and studies Chemistry at… _Harvard_?

"What the _fuck_?" I say out loud without meaning too. Hot Barista looks up, as does everyone around me. "Sorry," I tell them, stuffing my phone in my pocket, grabbing the drink tray and paper bag that Happy Latte Girl is sliding towards me.

I pretty much run back to the shop, Alice looking alarmed when the door flies open.

"He's dating some girl. Who _goes to Harvard_ ," I breathe and her eyes get wide.

"What the fuck?"

"That's what I said!"

She's thoughtful for a moment.

"Okay," she's got a game plan, I love when Alice has a plan. "You—drink your coffee and stay cool, you've got five more lessons today and that gig in South Lake. I will assess the situation and we will go home later and get hammered and burn every photo you have of him."

I take a gulp of my coffee, not caring that it burns the hell out of my tongue.

"Okay."

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I'm out of it the entire rest of the day, missing strumming patterns during my lessons at the shop and then horrifically distracted through my whole lesson with Ava, the violinist in South Lake and I almost miss my ride back, just zoning out at the bus stop. I barely remember to go to the bank to deposit the money so I can write Emmett a check.

By the time I get home, I feel like a strung-out pile of garbage. Which of course means that Alice and Emmett and Jasper are already in the living room, playing Kings and screaming at the TV, Jeopardy blaring.

Once they hear the front door close, all eyes are on me.

"Bella needs shots," Emmett yells, getting to his feet and disappearing into the kitchen.

"I have a check for you," I call after him, collapsing onto the couch, laying my head on Alice's shoulder.

"You okay?" she asks softly. I don't get a chance to answer her because Emmett is coming back into the room, a bottle of Fireball in his hand.

"That guy was a dick and you know it, B. I've never supported that relationship," he says to Jasper, who nods, having heard this spiel a lot over the last few years.

He pushes the bottle into my hand.

"We don't have any shot glasses, I think we broke the rest of them on New Year's so you're just gonna have to chug."

It doesn't take much convincing, I've had such a shit day I want to be trashed and feeling nothing. It doesn't take long and Jasper's ordering a pizza so I don't puke my brains out in the morning from drinking on an empty stomach.

"You deserve so much better than that shitsack, B," Emmett slurs earnestly. I roll my eyes.

"He's got a point," Jasper says. "He's going nowhere in life, dude. He would've held you back."

I feel tears well up in my eyes because, I mean, I'm not going anywhere either. I was supposed to take a year off, a year to see if I could do _something_ with this stupid music obsession and then I'd look at school. But a year turned into three and a half and I haven't done anything but write songs and give music lessons and practically starve every month. I look around at my friends and feel so small. Emmett's been my best friend since the fourth grade and he's got a job that gives him health insurance and he still lets me live with him even though I can never afford the rent. Alice is at hair school when she's not being a financial wizard for Shelly and Jasper's got a fucking master's degree in history and _chooses_ to just dick around.

But I guess that's what I'm doing, too. Dicking around.

I take another gulp of whiskey.

Alice is on her phone, laying on the floor with her chin tucked to her chest and Jasper's tapping absently on the old drum kit in the corner of the room.

"He's grown an awful beard," Alice says to no one in particular but holds her phone towards me. She's right, it's patchy. His ugly facial hair helps a little.

"God, this girl wears the same sweatshirt in every picture. We get it, you go to Harvard, you're awesome," Alice continues sarcastically, and I let out a pained laugh.

"Fuck her ivy league sweater," Emmett calls out. "I bet she's boring."

Alice chimes in, "he's just dating her so he can brag that he's getting his dick sucked by a genius while he's working construction or something."

We all laugh, but my mind is looping what Emmett said over and over.

"Fuck her ivy league sweater," I repeat quietly. "Fuck _your_ ivy league sweater."

"You're so much better," Jasper says, _tap tap tapping_ away on the drums, just a simple beat but it gets my mind going.

"Uh oh," Emmett laughs. "She's got that look in her eye. Someone hand her a pen."

One appears next to me, I take it without seeing who had it and I'm already scribbling on an old China Garden menu.

"A song?" Jasper asks, and I hear Emmett and Alice answer in unison like this is some fucking Disney movie.

"A song."

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 **Ack okay, I only have like 4 chapters of this written but a bunch of it outlined, it's kind of a just a go-as-it-flows kind of deal so far, so I can't promise set update times but im hoping at least once a week. Thank you for reading xoxo**


	2. Chapter 2

**Dumb moment: this chapter was supposed to be part of the last chapter and bc I'm an IDIOT it's this short little blurb.**

 **HUGE thanks to anyone who is reading this and rec'ing this on facebook—you're all too kind.**

 **Back to B and Hot Barista.**

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"You're driving me _up the wall_ ," Alice practically shouts as I'm fiddling with different pedals and the display amp, trying to get the perfect amount of haze and distortion from my guitar. Shelly's in her office going over the books that Alice already went over and Jasper's giving a lesson, leaving Alice on register and stuck listening to my constant noise and playing of the same three chords over and over again.

"I'm sorry, I just need to find the…" I trail off because she knows what I mean, and I think I'm getting close to what I want.

It's not my fault my morning lesson was a no-show and this song I'm writing is almost done.

Just need to find the right pedal—

"Why don't you go get us some coffee?" she offers, her eyes telling me that she's not really giving me a choice.

I let the chord I just played fade out and sigh, packing up my stuff. I hate having to stop when I'm on a roll.

"Your treat," she calls after me and I just roll my eyes. I owe her like a million coffees by now, they should _all_ be my treat.

It's nice to get outside and breathe in the crisp spring air, a reasonably warm day compared to the rest of this week. Thankfully there's not a line—or anyone at all—in the Starbucks across the street. I know there's another coffee shop around here somewhere, I mean, this is Seattle after all, but I haven't thought to look for one.

Hot Barista is there again, looking bored and too handsome for his dumb, green apron. I hope he doesn't remember me because I haven't forgotten the mess I was the last time I saw him.

"Big Coffee Girl," he says in his low, gravelly voice. My cheeks burn. "Cool shirt."

I look down and give him a small smile. It's an old Talking Heads tee my mom got at one of their shows ages ago, well-worn, a hole in the right armpit.

"Thanks."

We stare at each other for a moment and he's looking at me expectantly,

"So," he says slowly. "Is there something I can get you?"

His mouth pulls into this lopsided smirk as I sputter my way through my order, embarrassed.

I tap my fingers on the countertop while he makes my drinks, trying to think of a better chord progression for the bridge, humming under my breath, but Hot Barista speaks and interrupts my flow.

"Am I moving too slowly for you? Your nails on the counter your way of telling me to speed things up?"

I shake my head, but he doesn't see it and I'm a little irritated that no one will let me _work_.

But he's cute and I'm pretty sure he's flirting with me.

"Sorry, no, just working on something. A song."

"A song, huh?"

"Yep."

"So, you're a musician." It's not a question, it's an assumption and it's one that makes me snort a laugh.

"I play music, I'm not a musician," I say because it's the truth.

"Isn't that what a musician is?" He looks confused, but a ghost of a smile is on his lips as he turns to hand me my drinks.

"Not in my book. I just dabble, I guess. I sell guitars to _actual_ musicians," I explain, taking the coffees. "Which I have to get back to." I jerk my head towards the shop across the street as I start to go.

"Good luck with the song, Big Coffee Girl."

"It's Bella," I toss over my shoulder, bumping the door open with my hip.

I hear him laugh and repeat my name and I try to ignore how nice it sounds on his tongue.

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"You did this in a week?" Emmett asks, his eyes wide. It's true, I did write the song in a few days. Recorded it on my phone and layered it with a shitty app.

It's not a great song, but it's something.

"It's so good, B. It's like, girl-punk hipster-shit."

"Not exactly what I was aiming for," I mumble. I just don't have access to any actual recording equipment.

"Do I get writing credit on it?" he asks with a grin, playing it again.

"Sure," I say, though it'll never be anywhere for anyone to ever hear it.

I wasn't even going to let Em listen to it but he heard me playing the final product in my room and he's nosy as hell.

"But I'm so serious, Bella, if you can do this in a week, think of what you can do in a month. Or a year."

I blush, turning away from him.

"Stop pretending like you're not good enough to turn this into something. You are."

He presses play again on his way out of my room, the riffs I'd played so clumsily but confidently fill the air and my voice is soft.

 _How's your new Ivy League girlfriend?_

 _Is she boring, too, in the way I couldn't stand?_

I wait for the pick up, the question.

 _Does it feel better?_

 _In that cold Boston weather._

 _Fuck your Ivy League sweater,_

 _You know I was better._

It's not bad. It's really not. And I feel like I've actually accomplished something. I think about sending it to Mike as a giant _fuck you_ but maybe I don't have to.

Maybe this is enough for me.

My eyes find the picture of me and Mike I'd taped to my wall when I first moved in.

I smirk and tear it down.

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 **song: 'harvard' by diet cig**

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 **Yeah, I can't write my own songs for this, I wanted to give you something actually real to listen to if you feel like it. Diet Cig is a great band. I'll be keeping a playlist for this story (all the songs used/mentioned) will be there, the link is in my bio if anyone is interested!**

 **Til next time!**


	3. Chapter 3

**WOW! Thank you all so much for your kind words and for reading this thing! I'm truly blown away.**

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"Hottie at your eight o'clock," Alice says into my ear as we're leaning against the counter. She's on register duty and my next lesson is five minutes late. I look a little over my shoulder, towards the modest selection of vinyl to find Hot Barista in his uniform (minus the apron) flipping through the R's. He must feel my stare because he looks up, his eyes finding me and a corner of his mouth turns up.

"He works at that Starbucks," I tell Alice once he turns back to what he's looking for. She laughs and quirks an eyebrow.

"Explains why you've been so compliant with my coffee requests recently." I shove her a little and her elbow pushes the sticker display next to the register onto the floor. She clucks her tongue and I sigh, knowing I've got to clean it up.

I'm on my knees, my fingernails scraping against the scuffed tile floor as I try to pick up multicolored bumper stickers when a pair of torn up sneakers come into my line of vision.

And suddenly, Hot Barista is kneeling in front of me, his thick hair flopping over his eyes as he scoops up a pile of _honk if you love Bach_ stickers.

"Thanks," I say, trying to smile through my embarrassment.

"No problem." He hands me a stack of stickers as we stand up, his fingers brushing against mine. Warm and rough. Electric.

"Are you finding everything okay?" I ask, trying to keep my professional composure and failing miserably as I stuff stickers back onto their display. I can see Alice smirking out of the corner of my eye.

"Yeah," he says with a smile. "Just looking around. I've never been in here, you got me curious."

I blush and I try to shield it with my hair.

"I mean, it's no corporate coffee chain but it's pretty cool," I say in an attempt to deflect. He laughs and the sound is calming, soft and deep and content.

"I only work at Starbucks because they pay so well. Not that I have to explain myself to you, _you're_ the one who buys their coffee."

Alice laughs behind me and I'm opening and closing my mouth like an idiot.

"It's the-you don't-ugh," is all I can get out.

A beat of smug silence.

"Well," he begins, smirking. "The soulless coffee conglomerate calls. Maybe I'll see you around."

"Maybe," I say, trying to be coy, trying to not sound like a petulant teenager. I can practically _hear_ Alice rolling her eyes.

I watch him go, his walk is easy as he crosses the street.

"So," Alice says from behind me, but thankfully my next lesson is coming through the door, apologetic smile on their face.

"Later," I laugh, getting away from her as quickly as I can.

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I'm torturing myself, I know, but I can't stop social-media stalking Mike and Harvard Girl. I found her Twitter and it's so boring, just whining about her classes and how long the line at Starbucks always is.

Yep.

Starbucks.

There's gotta be like a million cool coffee shops around her but she chooses Starbucks.

I know this because on Instagram, between the pictures of her and my ex-boyfriend sucking face and "pics of my beautiful campus! #harvard #ivyleague", she's posting about her daily Frappuccino.

I'm not trying to be a judgmental bitch but here I am, because Mike couldn't have chosen someone more different than me.

And it makes me wonder, what's so wrong with me?

If I say this aloud to anyone, Emmett would launch into a Full On Pep Talk and I'm really not in the mood right now. I make myself shut my computer and pick up my guitar. A few lyrics are scrawled on my knee in pen because I couldn't find any paper.

 _First month I was so sad,_

 _Second month a little mad._

I'm just playing around with chords, laying on my back in bed, my feet up on the wall, tap, tap, tapping along. My eyes hurt, it's late and the stupid LED bulb in my lamp is too blue but it was all we had. I stretch my arm overhead and unplug it, the only light coming in now is through the gaps in the blinds over the window.

I should go to bed, I really should, but it's Wednesday and I'm not done with this new song yet and I'm feeling beyond sad and lonely. I mean, I know I have a housefull of people around me but it's not the same. Mike and I dated for so long I kind of thought he was, you know, the one. And maybe someday we'd get married (but like, cool-married-by Elvis in Vegas or something) and we'd have a punk-ass kid who loves me and thinks all my show posters are cool.

Jesus fuck I'm such an idiot.

I drag my pity party out of my room and down the hall to Em's, not knocking as I push the door open.

"I could've had a girl in here," he mutters, the light from the hall cutting across his face. He's laying in bed, obviously trying to sleep, too. I crawl onto the mattress next to him, curling into a ball.

"You know I'm the only girl in your life," I mutter right back.

"I could've been jerking off," he points out.

"No, you only do that on Mondays and Thursdays."

A beat of silence.

"It's really fucked up that you know that."

"It's really fucked up that you jerk it on such a rigid schedule."

He pushes me off the bed.

"Rude!" I yell, rubbing my elbow.

"Did you just come in here to make fun of me?" He holds his hand out, helping me back up into bed next to him.

"No, I can't sleep," I whine. "I just realized that I'm never going to have a cool baby or make anything of my life domestically."

"What are you even talking about?"

"Mike was my one! He was supposed to be it!"

Emmett laughs. He _laughs_ before telling me, "grow up, B. You're only 22. It's not like your eggs are all old and dusty."

"Ugh, please don't talk about my 'eggs.' I just miss him, I guess."

"Trust me, you don't miss him. You miss the idea of him. But dude fucking sucks, Bella. He is the literal _worst_."

"I'm a failure in life _and_ in love," I moan dramatically.

"Go to bed or I'm going to suffocate you with this pillow."

"I wish you _would!_ " I cry, but he ignores me. "Can I sleep here?"

"If you actually fucking sleep."

I stretch out, stealing his sheets.

"Goodnight, Em. Love you."

"Love you too, B."

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It's been raining pretty steadily the last few days, so it shouldn't be surprising that I get drenched by a passing car when I'm waiting for my bus.

I still scream. startled.

I trudge my way to the store, desperately trying to avoid the Starbucks no matter how tired I am because I don't need Hot Barista seeing me looking like a drowned rat.

Shelley's in a bad mood, the rain making her joints ache, and Alice has something for school so she has to leave early which means I'll be bored out of my mind for the entire afternoon.

My stomach growls. I want a scone.

But Alice's face when she comes in tells me that at this point I should bury myself under the floorboards.

"I'll have Jasper bring you some new clothes."

"Bless you," I sigh, using my cardigan as a towel for my hair.

"This is the one time I'll say this, but thank god you don't wear makeup."

I stick my tongue out at her.

The bells above the door of Ballard ring and somehow, my day gets even worse.

"Bella!" Tyler Crowley calls out to me and makes his way to the counter. I stare at the lip ring protruding from his face instead of meeting his eyes. Alice speaks first.

"What do you want, Tyler?"

"A warmer welcome than that, for one," he laughs and we both narrow our eyes.

We've known Tyler from the scene since Jasper and I started hitting open mike nights and house shows, just for fun. He's loud, obnoxious, and an entitled rich kid who's rebelling against his parents (but still living in their guest house). His eyes always linger too long and I've almost slapped him multiple times to ward off his advances.

"I need a favor," he says after a beat too long of silence. "I'll pay you for it."

"Gross," Alice says, her face twisting with disgust.

"Not like that," he says quickly, then smirks. "Unless you're into it."

"You have about five seconds until I kick your ass out of here," I tell him, my tone venomous.

Tyler pulls out his wallet.

"A hundred bucks," he begins, waving the bills in front of me. "Our opener for tonight canceled and everyone else is booked."

A hundred bucks could take me a long way. He knows he's got me the moment I look at the cash.

"Just text me when and where." I reach for the money but he shoves it back into his wallet.

"Not til after." I roll my eyes as he starts to thankfully walk away. "Oh, and Bella? Try not to play any of your angry, feminist bitch repartee. It doesn't help you get any fans. Or dates. And maybe...take a shower. Or dry off. Or both."

My mouth is hanging open as he exits.

"Uh oh," Alice whispers.

"What a pretentious fucking _dick._ "

"Just don't go," Alice offers.

"Please, I _have_ to go. I need the cash. I need a fucking gig."

Alice is quiet until, "I'll get you some coffee. I'm sure you've got a song to write. Some eloquent way to tell him to fuck off."

I'm seeing red but I'm nodding. Yeah. New song.

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I'm drinking cheap gin to keep my nerves in check, courtesy of my favorite bartender, as people start to filter into the club. Music won't start until a little after seven but Tyler's got a lot of friends and girls who apparently have no self-respect.

I hate how nervous I get before a show. I love writing the songs, but performing them is another story.

Jasper and Alice should be here soon, Jasper borrowing the headliner's drumkit so we don't really have to set anything up but our amps and pedals.

I take another drink and shudder, it's like drinking nail polish remover but it's calming me down. I haven't played a show since Mike and I broke up. He was usually there, playing drums if we needed him to, but mostly, he got drunk and cheered the loudest for us.

I take a couple more shots by the time Jasper's on stage, slowly getting his shit together. Stoned, no doubt.

"Where's Alice?" I ask as I hoist myself onto the low stage. He shrugs.

"Waitin' for Emmet outside."

I tune up my guitar, strumming a few chords to test the sound, singing a little.

"Can I get a little more on this mic?" I ask the sound guy. "Thanks."

Jasper checks his watch and nods.

I step into the green-glowing light and kneel down to plug my guitar into the amp. I'm sure that my hair looks even wilder in this lighting and there's a run in my tights that goes from ankle to knee. I step up to the microphone, clears her throat, and smirks. The house lights dim. Some cheers float out from the crowd.

"We dedicate this set to Tyler Crowley." I'm met with a smattering of shouts and applause, mostly by girls recognizing his name. "We wrote this song today."

I back away, strumming my guitar, upbeat chords, before Jasper comes in smashing on the drums and my fingers start to move faster, effortlessly through the simple chords. I'm moving around the stage, in my element before rushing back up to the microphone, my voice high and raw.

" _They say 'speak your mind, but not too loud' and_

' _You should love yourself, but don't be too proud.'_

 _Well, I'm done_

 _Can't always be so fun."_

I _ooh_ into the mic as we transition into the next verse, my fingers never missing a beat.

I smile sweetly, sarcastically and sing,

" _I'm not being dramatic_

 _I've just fucking had it_

 _With the things that you say you think that I should be_

 _Well, I'm done_

 _Can't always be so fun"_

I can see Tyler at the bar in the back of the room, seething. The crowd is responding to the song though, I see heads bobbing and know that it's killing him.

" _Don't tell me to calm down!_

 _I know,_

 _What I want,_

 _So please fuck off!"_

I can't help it, I end the song with my middle finger up proudly in his direction, my whole body buzzing with excitement over playing a show, over the sound of my own music vibrating in my chest and filling up what at one point was a quiet space, all the nervousness from before gone.

I can hear Em's voice above the crowd, and I'm looking for him even though it's hard to see past the lights.

No Mike, of course no Mike. I don't want to look for him in a crowd anymore, but the habit is still there. Jasper starts counting off the next song and I have to push the feeling down.

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 **I thought u were better than that by cyberbully mom club**

 **link in bio by diet cig**

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 **Link to spotify playlist in my bio, til next time xoxo meg**


	4. Chapter 4

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Alice and I watch as Shelly gets on her bus, waving to her as she goes. She leaves early on Saturdays, having a long-standing dinner date with her girlfriends and so we're left to close up.

Which we do.

While we clean up and put the money in the safe, we share a bottle of whatever we could sucker Jasper into buying for us and blast old hip hop music over the speakers.

It's our Friday tradition. We pregame at work, Alice fixes our make-up in the tiny bathroom, and then we head out for the night, looking for some of that Seattle magic.

Once we've finished the bottle of SoCo and Alice has meticulously applied dark lipstick and highlighter to our faces, we start our weekly argument over what we want to do as we lock up the doors.

"We should go clubbing," Alice slurs. She's a lightweight but I mean, I'm stumbling next to her. It's still relatively early, only eight and the streets are starting to light up with potential.

"The Sidekicks are playing over at the Crocodile tonight," I offer, and Alice blows a raspberry as she throws me a thumbs down.

"I don't want to drink shitty beer and listen to an emo band. We need to dance to fuckin' G-Eazy or something. We're too young and too hot to waste away in a basement."

I hate those kinds of clubs, but Alice is right. Besides, sleazy clubs are easier to get free drinks in and both of us are pretty broke.

We're walking away from the shop when Alice stops, letting out an excited squeal as she grabs onto my elbow.

"We should invite Starbucks Hottie."

"Oh, no we definitely should _not_ ," I say, laughing nervously, trying to pull her away. She lets go of me and just fucking runs into the street and dodges cars like Mr. Magoo as I'm shouting for her to stop and to wait and to just like, _not_ get hit by a bus. By the time I get across the street to the stupid Starbucks, Alice is up at the counter, running her mouth while Hot Barista watches her, thankfully, with amusement.

"You could've died, you know," I say to her as I approach them, out of breath.

Alice ignores me, not moving her eyes from the man in front of her.

"Anyway, we're going out and you look like you could use some fun. I mean, no offense but this place sucks."

Hot Barista looks at me, then back at Alice.

"I'm just going to say this one more time," he says. "I. Hate. Starbucks."

"Look, dude, I'm not judging you, you do you. But we're going clubbing and I'm inviting you to come with us."

Hot Barista throws up his hands.

"She's drunk!" I half-yell accusingly.

"No shit," he laughs. "So are you."

"Not the point. Just ignore her."

"So, you're uninviting me to the club?"

Alice yells, "no!"

"We don't even fucking know where we're going," I point out.

"I don't get off here for another hour," he adds.

"Gimme your number and I'll text you where we go," Alice says, then smirks. "Actually… my phone's been being kind of weird lately, give it to Bella and _she'll_ text you."

That tricky bitch.

Hot Barista leans across the counter, holding his hand out for my phone. I frown as I hand it over, but his fingers touch mine as he grabs it and my stomach flips.

"Don't feel obligated to come just because a drunk girl is harassing you. She'll be embarrassed about this tomorrow."

"No, I won't," Alice sing-songs, drifting towards the door.

"Just let me know where you guys end up, I could use a fun night."

And I swear to god he winks at me as he gives me my phone back.

He fucking winks.

I'm stunned, backing out of the shop and into the chilly air.

"That was fun," Alice squeals, pulling me along.

"You're an asshole."

"So what? He's hot and he's obviously interested. Best way to get over Mike is to get under someone else."

"You're also _such_ a cliché," I tell her, finally looking at the screen to see what Hot Barista put in my phone.

Alice peers over my arm and sounds disappointed as she says, "Edward? That's a dumb name."

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Exactly thirty-four minutes after the Starbucks incident, Alice and I are in some dimly lit club with bass vibrating the room as Jasper approaches us. He throws me a lazy smile when he's done making out with his girlfriend. I shake my head at him, he's such a Kurt Cobain wannabe with his greasy hair and flannel shirt but he's cute. There's something about his blue eyes and easy demeanor that makes all the hipster girls that come in looking for Nirvana records and pink ukuleles swoon over him.

"Where's Emmett?" I yell over the music, sipping my vodka soda, courtesy of the bartender who took pity on me after I showed him my latest bank statement.

"He said he's too tired to come out, something about having to work early tomorrow," Jasper explains before he orders a beer, laying down his card and opening a tab.

Jasper works like three jobs and has more money than all of us-even Mr. Too-Tired-to-Come-Out himself.

"Boooooo," Alice drawls before she adds her own order onto Jasper's tab.

I shoot Em a quick _pussy_ text before grabbing Alice and dragging her to the dance floor, ready to just, let go. That new Hailee Steinfeld song is playing and Alice is putting her hands in the air, swaying her hips and I've got my eyes closed and we're singing along, _somebody's taking care of all of the mess I've made._

It's a catchy song and the floor isn't too crowded, and no one's tried to grab my ass yet.

Jasper must come over at some point because when the song changes, I open my eyes to see him and Alice glued together. It's times like this I wish at least Emmett was here, so I wouldn't feel like such a third wheel. I motion that I'm going to the bar again.

On my way, I fluff my hair, pout my lips enough to hopefully distract some guy into buying me a drink. Otherwise I'll just sneak it onto Jasper's tab.

"That one's probably your best bet," a voice says from behind me, right in my ear.

Hot Barista. Edward.

He's grinning, one side of his smile higher than the other, the lights from the dancefloor changing his face from pink to blue.

"What?" I say, overwhelmed with his proximity.

"The man at the end of the bar, looking around. Trust me, he's here to pick up girls. Plus, his suit looks expensive. You could probably get a double out of him."

I observe the light-haired man as he smiles at every woman who passes him, angling his body towards the empty chair next to him.

"Good luck," Edward says, taking a sip of his own drink. I can feel his eyes on me as I take a seat, fluttering my eyelashes and touching Blondie's arm, leaning forward just a little, pushing my tits up against the bar. When he asks what I'm drinking I tell him a double vodka soda and once the drink is in my hand, I get closer, whispering in his ear, thanking him for the drink and maybe I'll see him on the dancefloor?

When I reach Edward again, he's laughing, trailing behind me back to the dancefloor.

"That was so cruel," he's telling me, his voice rising over the music.

"I told him I'd save him a dance," I offer, quirking an eyebrow.

"Are dances only for men who buy you drinks?" he asks, stepping closer. He smells woodsy. I wonder what cologne he wears. I take a sip of my vodka, pretending to think it over.

"Obviously. These moves aren't free."

He shakes his head, amused. Alice breaks away from Jasper to accost Edward, screeching that she can't believe he actually came and she's so _glad_.

She raises her eyebrows suggestively at me as Jasper pulls her away.

"I think your friend is trying to set us up," he says, dipping his head closed enough to me that I can feel his breath on my neck.

A shiver runs through me.

"She's insane," I say.

"I think she's funny."

"That makes one of us."

"It's really fucking loud in here," Edward yells as the bass drops and the sound feels like it makes my teeth shake.

"It's a club, dude. That's the point."

"Never been to a club," he shouts, shrugging. My eyes must widen because he laughs. "Wouldn't peg you for the clubbing type either."

I raise an eyebrow, "what do you know about my type?"

He sighs.

"I know that was probably really a great, cutting remark but I honestly cannot hear you."

I put him out of his misery, downing the rest of my drink, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the door. The cold air feels good on my flushed skin and I let out a shaky, breathy laugh. Edward looks different in the bright street lamp, his hair looks almost purple, his cheeks red and his eyes impossibly dark.

"Okay, now do you want to tell me about my _type?_ " I ask and he laughs, full and with all his teeth showing.

"Oh. No, trust me, I don't know anything."

"You're like a new man out here without the noise as an excuse, huh?"

"You caught me."

A beat of silence passes between us, a little awkward because he won't look at me but I can't take my eyes off him.

"You look weird without your apron," I blurt, and we both laugh, but I'm tugging at his black t-shirt, imagining the rough green fabric between my fingers.

Oh god, I'm developing a fucking Starbucks Barista fantasy as I stand here.

He finally looks at me, and though he's smiling, he's...I don't know, hesitating?

I don't know what about though, I'm not even angling for a kiss or anything.

Not that I wouldn't like, be up for that.

But I mean.

His phone chimes from his back pocket and he _jumps_.

"You really do have a thing about loud noises," I say, but he doesn't register it. He's pulling his phone out, He's apologizing, he has to take this, he'll see me around, he's so _sorry_.

He's gone, practically running down the fucking street and around the corner.

Did I just get fucking Cinderella'd?

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 **More to come soon, I love hearing your thoughts on each chapter xoxo meg**


	5. Chapter 5

**HOOOBOY I have been having some awful computer troubles, hopefully this actually POSTS.**

 **Thank you all for reading, following, favoriting, reviewing.**

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"I bet he had a really good reason for leaving," Alice says for the zillionth time. She's working on my hair, both of us pretty hungover from the night before, but she's gotta practice giving highlights and I can't even get a brush through it at this point. She's using a comb, doing tiny strokes to detangle it inch by inch. Jasper's at the shop, his main day for lessons there, and my only day off. Emmett's been a work for hours already at this point.

"It doesn't even matter," I tell Alice, wincing as she pulls on a knot. It really isn't, but he got me so frustrated that I ended up making out with the guy who bought me a drink at the bar, imagining a fucking green apron. I probably would've gone home with him but Alice (thankfully) refused to let me go.

"Has he texted you or anything?"

"Can we just drop it?" I beg, because he didn't text me. I haven't heard from him. I don't know, it was just weird. He acted like I pulled three tits out of my top.

"Fine," Alice sighs. "I'm just saying, you shouldn't completely discount him for one thing that happened the very first time you guys hung out."

"I think this hurt your feelings more than mine." 

"I _knew_ you were upset about it!"

"I'm not upset! I'm about to go to an actual salon to get my hair done if you don't shut up about this."

"Please, I'm all you can afford."

She's right, but thankfully, she goes back to humming to herself. I turn the TV on, looking for something to distract us both.

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When my mom calls later in the day, I'm pulling my fingers through my hair, watching the way the highlights Alice gave me catch the light. The mirror in our single bathroom is so smudged, it's hard to see, but I can feel how soft my hair is now, all combed and blown out and a good two inches shorter than it was.

I answer the phone on the fourth ring. She's always right on time and always mid-sentence when I answer.

"-to God, Charlie, if you do not slow this car down-"

"Mom," I say loudly.

"Sorry, baby," she sighs. "You'd think seeing as how he's a cop, your father would learn how to drive the speed limit."

My dad grumbles something and I hear my mom scoff.

"What are you guys doing?" I ask, though I know the answer.

"So many new movies came out this weekend, Bella. The new one with George Clooney!"

My parents are creatures of habit and every Sunday since I can remember, they've gone to an afternoon matinee in Port Angeles, the closest theatre to the backwoods town I grew up in, and then dinner afterwards. When I was younger and still living at home, I was always brought along, though I never got to choose the movie.

Like, I'm six years old and watching _Gladiator_ behind my fingers while my mom gasps over Russell Crowe.

But anyway, every sunday while they make the long ass drive up to PA, I get a phone call from them asking about my life and I get the low-down on what's happening in my hometown.

"How's everything? You pay Emmett the rest of the rent?"

"It's really irritating that you talk to Em so much." They call him more than they call me, I swear. Em's parents were kind of absent through most of our childhood so he practically grew up at my house. I'm sure that my dad wishes he could adopt him.

He'd be the golden child.

"But yes, I paid him,"I say, studying my face in the dingy mirror. Even though she's not here, it feels like my mom is scrutinizing me. God, this lighting is horrible. I'm too pale.

"Angela Weber's mom says she got into Northwestern for Law School," Mom says.

"Angela Weber can suck my ass."

"Isabella!" they chide in unison.

"Sorry I didn't go to law school," I mutter. The prettiness of my new and improved hair is fading. That useless, inadequate feeling is creeping in to take its place.

"Oh, sweetie, we never expected you to go to law school."

I scoff.

"What your mother is trying to say," Dad chimes in, "is that she wishes you would give college another thought."

"I know," I sigh, turning the bathroom lights off. It's dark now, I can barely see myself.

Much better.

"It's not too late to build a life for yourself, Bella! One that lets you pay the rent!" Mom says and I know she means well, it's just...she just doesn't get it.

"I'll keep that in mind. I gotta go," I say, suddenly desperate to lock myself in my room for the rest of my life.

"Okay, love you!"

"Love you, Bella," Dad adds gently.

"Love you, too." I tell them, because I do. I really do. It's just an exhausting kind of love.

When I'm surrounded with silence again, I can let out a relieved, shaky breath.

I go back to my room, grabbing my guitar from its stand before closing the door. I don't bother turning the lights on, I want to stay in the dark. I let myself strum. Words aren't coming to me right now, but the melancholy minor chords are flowing, washing over me.

I wish that I would've been better at school, would have enjoyed it more. It's not that I didn't like to learn, it was just too structured. I can't do things on a schedule like that, can't focus on math problems that only have one right answer and one right way to reach it.

Maybe I could've been in Law School like Angela Weber and I wouldn't be such a massive disappointment to everyone around me.

 _You don't have to remind me so much, how I disappoint you._

I don't want to write another sad song, but it's coming before I can stop it. I'm a crier over movies and sad news stories and tons of things that really don't matter but in cases like this, I can't cry. So, I write.

I scribble into my nearly full notebook, I strum on my guitar, I sing and sing and sing until the feeling starts to pass.

Until I can fall asleep, early in the evening, without dinner, without having to explain myself to everyone else in the house.

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 **song: 'appointments' by Julien Baker**

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 **Some songs in this are going to be "written" piece by piece, they will reappear throughout (just a heads up so there's no confusion).**


	6. Chapter 6

**hope you all had a wonderful holiday! Thank you for reading xoxo**

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The worst part about spring, besides the fact that it rains _more_ in Seattle than it does the rest of the year in a few months, is the annual cleaning of Ballard Music.

Shelly makes us all come in early on the last Monday in March and we work for like, sixteen hours to do inventory, clear out old, dusty products, and scrub every inch of the shop.

The pay is good, but fuck, it _sucks_.

Jasper and I get high in the alley behind the shop, which helps a little. He blows smoke rings until I'm giggling so hard I can't breathe.

"You're late," Shelly chides as we walk in. "And you smell like Woodstock."

"I bet you looked beautiful at Woodstock," Jasper croons and Shelly swats at him, playfully, her irritation completely gone.

Alice, though, has taken all that irritation for her.

"I was here thirty minutes ago and I _still_ got yelled at."

"Southern charm," Jasper and I point out together. He leaves us in the front of the store, getting ready for his full morning of lessons. Alice is going through CDs and vinyl, looking for particularly dusty ones, staring at the shop's iPad to see how long things have been in stock.

In no time, I'm on hands and knees, scrubbing the grime on the floor behind the counter while Shelly talks to her son on her ancient flip phone next to me.

She's got what sounds like polka music playing as loud as our shitty overhead speakers can manage but every time I reach for the volume dial or the aux cord, she kicks her foot at me.

"This is somehow the loudest, most awful thing in the world," I yell from my little corner of dirt covered hell.

"Keep in mind that I've been listening to it for 30 minutes longer than you," Alice quips.

"Let it go already!"

"I will beat this horse until it dies a second time."

"Would both of you shut up?" Shelly shouts, covering her phone with her hand.

"We wouldn't have to yell if you'd let me do something about this music," I explain through my teeth as I work on a particularly stubborn patch of...something sticky.

Shelly finally turns it down and disappears towards her office in the back of the store, muttering her apologies to her son, though before she slams her door she shouts, loud enough for us to hear, "Sorry I work with _children!_ "

"Look what you did!" Alice hisses and I can't stop my laughter.

"It got her out of here and now we can listen to whatever we want," I point out, shrugging. I love Shelly, I do, but she tends to hover when she's out front. Serial micromanager.

Alice takes a break from inventory to switch to her Spotify on the main computer, settling on our collaborative playlist-every time either of us hears a song we like, it gets added to the list. It's a good mix of both of our tastes and makes it so we don't fight to the death over what to listen to.

I go back to scrubbing, though it doesn't seem like it's making much of a difference. We need new flooring in here, like, desperately. The shop could use a lot of cosmetic updates to be honest, but Shelly won't hear it.

Jasper's lessons pass through every hour or so during the morning, most of them teen girls or little kids. Jasper's main focus is the drums but he knows the basics for guitar, and for some reason banjo, though I think only one dude gets lessons for that.

"You going to Jake's tonight?" Alice asks as she takes a break, scrolling her phone while I continue to scrub.

He probably sent her a Facebook invite about it, too. Just a little house show in a basement close to UW's campus, nothing huge, but always my favorite way to spend an evening.

"If we're not here too late, yeah," I tell her. Jake is one of the first people I met in Seattle, though Mike had been the one to introduce us. The three of us, plus Jake's band mates Sam and Leah, used to play together a lot, just writing songs and playing small gigs here and there. When Mike started to pull away from the whole "music thing," he pulled me with him, and we were replaced in the lineup. Jake and the others are talented, I would be surprised if they're still unsigned by the end of the year.

"He's gonna make you play," Alice warns like I'm not already aware, and I'm usually fine with it when it's just us. With the rest of the band, I feel really out of place and honestly inadequate, knowing that the replacements are totally pissed that Jake keeps bringing me back.

I do love to play with him, though.

"Incoming," Alice calls and I look up, my eyes adjusting to the bright daylight blasting through the windows.

Hot Barista, Edward, Cinderella Man, is opening the door, bells jingling above him, drink tray in hand.

"That's a lot of coffee," Alice says suspiciously. "Are one of those…?"

"For you? Yes." He hands her a cup and she's grinning, pleased.

"Fun day?" he asks me, finding me crouched on the floor, flexing my hand to keep it from cramping.

"Totally," I say flatly. "What's with the coffee?"

"Just a little apology for running out on you guys the other day-it's a long story."

"We have time!"

"Alice," I warn, because usually when people say that, it means they don't actually want to tell you the story at all.

"My girlfriend's dad died, we were kind of expecting it, just not so soon."

"Hold up," Alice stops him, eyes narrowed. "You have a girlfriend?"

He nods, stops, and then backtracks, "no, I mean, my ex-girlfriend... we just broke up, it's complicated."

I want to make them both shut up. He doesn't have to explain his relationship status to me like I'm some girl asking him out, and Alice shouldn't have been so presumptuous to assume he was single.

I mean, he's so hot...like, my brain wants to melt when I think about it.

"No biggie," I say. "Hope she's okay."

He visibly relaxes, and Alice sighs, saying she's going to grab us lunch.

And I'm alone with barely single Edward who I really wanted to kiss the other day.

He's not even wearing his dumb apron or standard black work clothes.

Which probably means he went out of his way to bring us coffee.

"I _am_ sorry, I was having a really good time the other night, though," he tells me earnestly.

"Yeah, it was fun," I assure him. "And don't take anything Alice says personally, I just got out of a relationship and she's made it her personal mission to Fix Me Up."

Edward laughs, a real laugh, a comfortable laugh. It makes me warm.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" he asks and I shrug.

"My friend's band is playing a show and I was going to head over there when I'm done here, if you wanna come. It'll be a fun time, they always have a shitty, warm keg."

"I do love warm keg beer," he muses and I can't stop my smirk.

"I can text you when I'm almost done and you can meet me here? We can take the bus together?"

"Sounds good," he says, smiling, backing up. "I'll see you later."

"See you," I say to the floor, playing it cool, like my insides _aren't_ jumping at the thought of seeing him again.

.

.

.

Shelly lets us go just after nine, claiming she's tired and we can finish the rest tomorrow. I wash up in the bathroom the best I can, Alice hovering around me with her ever-present beauty bag.

"Don't be his rebound," she tells me.

"What if I want him to be _my_ rebound?"

"Oh, please," she scoffs, spraying me with a little bottle of Febreeze.

I look as gross as I feel, my hands sticky and nearly black from the dirt and grime of the shop, my hair impossibly frizzier and bigger than ever before.

I try to smooth it down as best as I can, but even Alice deems it a lost cause and puts it into a bun for me.

Alice and Jasper leave me in front of the shop much cleaner than I was ten minutes ago and with my guitar slung over my shoulder, when I see Edward coming my way. His hair's damp, like he just got out of the shower, and it's flopping into his eyes. He's wearing a nondescript gray hoodie, faded jeans, beat to hell sneakers.

An average dude's outfit and somehow it makes my mouth go dry.

"Hey," he says when he reaches me, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Hi," I say, suddenly feeling shy. We make our way to the bus stop in silence and I'm drowning in awkwardness.

Maybe this was a mistake.

But then Edward says, "do you want me to carry that? It looks heavy."

He's gesturing towards my guitar all packed up in its hard case. I shake my head.

"If something happens to this is your possession, I'll never forgive you. Same goes for everyone. I'm the only one allowed to carry it, just in case."

"Intense," he tells me, looking the case over again. It's pretty dinged up and covered in stickers but it's sturdy.

"It's a 1966 Strat with all the original hardware and finish, it's worth more than my life."

"I don't know anything about guitars," he admits. "But I believe you."

While we wait for the bus, I explain what collectors look for in vintage guitars, why refins don't sell for as much, even though they definitely look "prettier."

Edward is listening, like, for real. His eyes aren't going glassy, he's not interrupting me except to ask questions about it.

By the time we're standing in the middle of the crowded bus, he asks, "so how did you end up with such a rare guitar?"

The guy next to us eyes my case and I hug it a little closer.

"Pure luck. My mom found it cheap at an estate sale when I was eight, figured I needed something shitty to learn on."

Edward barks out a surprised laugh, because, "aren't people supposed to appraise stuff like that?"

I shrug, not going to complain because I don't know where I'd be without it.

"I forgot to ask you where we were going," he says as the bus takes us east.

"House show by Ravenna Park," I say and he nods a little.

"So, when you say house show, you mean it's not at a club or anything?"

I laugh because he really has no idea and he's starting to look skeptical.

"It'll be fun," I assure him, crossing my fucking fingers it's not a total disaster.

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Jake's house is one of the more rundown ones on his street and I can feel Edward's slight apprehension as I lead him inside, not knocking on the front door or anything. There are a few randos scattered around the living room, the air thick with the skunky scent of weed and I can hear voices coming from downstairs, followed by someone knocking over a cymbal.

It's crowded, more than 30 people standing around what Jake always calls The Stage (but it's really just a pile of dirty rugs with string lights blinking above it).

Leah's standing by the keg, scowling at her cup, until I get her attention.

"Bella! It's been _sooooo_ long!" Leah hugs me, too tightly, one of the pins on her jean vest poking me in the chest.

"I'm so glad to see you," I tell her, laughing, because it's true. She lets go of me, her smile bright. Her dark hair is braided, her olive skin glowing under the dim lights. She's got mascara smudged under her eyes and her attention is being directed to the man behind me.

"Is he yours?" she asks, smirking.

"Leah, this is Edward, Edward this is Leah." I roll my eyes, though I'm smiling, too.

"Nice to meet you, Leah," Edward says, politely. "That's a lot of foam, need help with the keg?"

Sure enough, her cup is frothy and not at all beer. She nods gratefully, stepping out of the way.

"You don't strike me as the type to know how to tap a keg," I tease him, throwing his words from the club back at him. One corner of his mouth turns up, his eyes trained on pouring Leah her beer.

"I did go to college, you know," he laughs, and I learn a little bit about him.

"I didn't know they taught that class at college. Maybe I would've actually gone."

"Same," Leah adds. "Thank you."

She takes her beer from him, raising her eyebrows at me as she makes her way towards the front of the gathering crowd.

"You want one?" Edward asks, holding another full cup out to me.

"Thanks."

We settle in at the back of the room, a few people I know pass us and I introduce them to Edward. He's so polite, giving them friendly smiles and sometimes holding out a hand to shake. It throws them, not used to such formality, usually introductions are limited to the lift of a chin, a quick, "hey."

But rather than them all giving me a look that says, "who's the narc?" They shake his hand, amused and maybe a little bit charmed.

"You have a lot of friends," he points out after this girl I used to give lessons to walks away from us. I shake my head.

"Nah, just know a lot of people."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Most of these people wouldn't pick up a phone call from me at 3 am. The 3am-ers are your friends."

He thinks this over, but doesn't get to say anything else on the topic because Jake's voice is booming out of the speakers on the sides of the room.

"Where's Bella?!"

A smattering of people turn to me, knowing who I am already, laughing.

I wave awkwardly, Jake's eyes finding me and lighting up, giddy. He's probably pretty fucked up already.

"Come play us a song, Bella," he croons.

"I'm not nearly drunk enough for that," I yell back and he laughs, rubbing his hand over his buzz cut.

"You better work on that," he warns, and I raise my cup to him before I chug it all, everyone watching the exchange cheering.

Sam comes on stage, sitting at the drum kit and waving at me, his light hair looking green under the string lights. Leah heads over to her little corner of the Stage, with her keyboard and tambourine and whatever else they've been experimenting with lately. Jake's got his bass at the ready and I'm waiting for the two others to join them-Jane and Alec, I think. Way younger than everyone else here, they shred on guitar but are a package deal. Leah used to play rhythm guitar but with the Replacements added, she got reassigned, because who needs three guitarists?

Which she claims is fine, not a big deal, but if it was me, I'd be pissed.

Whatever, I guess.

Jane and Alec are twins, both with a shock of white-blonde hair and the most disinterested expressions on their faces. However, when Jane and I make eye contact as they reach the Stage, her signature disinterest morphs into annoyance.

The expression doesn't last long because Sam's counting them off and the Replacements are playing some funky riffs, Jake's grooving bassline bringing it all together.

The crowd's moving and so am I, it's hard not to, and I can't help but watch Edward out of the corner of my eye. He was smooth at the club the other day, sliding against me so effortlessly. Now, though, he rocks a little, a lot stiffer than before, but he's smiling.

I get us more beer.

And then more.

And maybe a little more.

I'm feeling looser and he looks like he is, too, and Jake's voice is floating above the crowd, singing about growing pains and wrinkled lace.

"They're really good," Edward tells me, and I want to slide closer to him, to his shining eyes and soft-looking lips and-

"BELLA!"

Jake and Leah are shouting together, grinning, while Alec and Jane are skulking off stage.

"God fucking dammit," I hiss under my breath.

"Just one," Jake pleads, like I'm not already pulling my guitar out of its case. There's a buzz in the crowd, some people are hype because they've seen us play together before and the rest are trying to figure out why the hell I'm tuning my guitar and laughing along with Leah.

But I see Edward still standing in the back, watching me intently. Curiously.

I feel myself blush.

Jake bumps into me, his smile so big it looks like his face is gonna crack in half.

" _Percolator_?" he asks, as Leah nods next to me, tuning her own guitar.

"Good choice, it's been a while, though," I warn. He rolls his eyes.

"Like _you_ would get rusty."

Jake steps back up the microphone.

"This is a song we wrote years ago with our dear friend, Bella. Show her some love."

The crowd does and Edward is clapping.

Hot Barista is _clapping_ for _me._

Fuck that is _so_ hot.

Jake looks back to Sam, and then back to me.

Sam and Leah start us off, until I come in fucking _shredding_. Jake nods me towards the microphone and I go in.

" _Come on baby, get me high._ "

This song is one of my favorites, it rocks harder than most others I've written. Mike and I had just gotten to Seattle and we were crashing with Sam and Jake. I'd started some of the lyrics while I still lived at home, and I was annoyed with him because he was easily jealous, and I got too fucked up, too often.

Classic teenage angst bullshit.

" _I'm gonna die in a getaway car, I haven't tried but it sounds too hard."_

I'm feeling the rush of it all and I can't help but let out a scream moving to Leah, as we build off each other as we head into the next verse.

" _Don't you know I aim to please? I'm everybody's favorite tease! Put your hand on my knee- that's what friends are for-"_

I'm sarcastic and on fire and feeling so fucking _right_.

" _Well, I think I'm still breathing, while my parents are sleeping._

 _I am sick, but I'm speaking-_

 _My boyfriend is freaking."_

On instinct, I look for Mike.

My eyes find Edward instead, and he's seeing me-as I am, bared to everyone as I sweat and scream everything I've ever thought and felt.

I can see he's impressed by the way he smirks, but those eyes are dark and drunk and a little bit wanting _._

" _You say that I make you feel like a man."_

I sing the last line to him, our eyes locked and if I didn't have to finish this song with the sickest guitar riff I've ever written, I'd be all over him in an instant.

The crowd is losing it and Jane is sending me the stink eye from her little corner of the room and Leah is fucking screaming in my face about how much she missed me while Jake claps his hand on my shoulder.

When I finally push my way through the throngs of people between us, Hot Barista's smile is _brilliant._

I could write an entire album on the way he gets a little dimple in is his left cheek.

"You were so great," he breathes, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"You were, too," I say without thinking and he laughs, rolling his eyes.

"That was a dumb thing to say," I tell him, my cheeks redder than they were from the exertion of playing I'm sure.

"You lied before."

My brows draw together at his words.

"When you said you weren't a musician," he clarifies. "You're definitely a musician."

Relief floods me, maybe some flattery, too.

I really want to kiss him.

So, I do.

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 **song: 'percolator' by charly bliss**

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 **Okay okay okay I know that there are like, zero answers in this chapter (girlfriend?! Ex?) but that's on purpose, there will be clarification on some things soon I promise.**


	7. Chapter 7

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Or, I _would've_ kissed him, if some rando hadn't fucking puked _all over us._

I wish I was kidding.

Some dude just yelled, "party foul!" as if I was supposed to laugh about being covered in a stranger's beer vomit.

I was literally leaning in, mouth a-blazing. Edward had licked his lips.

And then, _WHAM!_ Vomit city.

"What the _fuck!"_ Is all I can manage because I'm gagging. I'm one of those people who totally barfs if someone else does.

Edward is weirdly calm. Definitely grossed out-his beautiful face is all screwed up in disgust but he's also asking the Barf Offender if they're okay.

They're too drunk to even register the heinous crime they've just committed, already wandering off towards the keg.

"Ughhhhh," I whine, looking around at the people avoiding us. "Let's get this...off of us?"

Hot Barista _laughs_ and tells me to, "lead the way."

Apparently, people are hotboxing in the only bathroom in Jake's house, so he hands us a roll of paper towels and points us toward the kitchen sink, upset that he's going to have to clean puke off his basement floor.

"Thanks," I call after his retreating form, completely sarcastic.

I rip off a bunch of towels and hand them to Edward, who runs them under water in the sink.

We wipe ourselves off in relative silence save for my groans and winces as it seems to make the vomit go deeper into the wool of my sweater.

"I scrubbed floors for a zillion hours today and this is somehow the gross part of my day," I tell him, frowning.

"Yikes," he chuckles, deep and warm and I really did want to kiss him before the whole puke incident.

But the moment is obviously gone.

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"I really don't want to hear about you sucking face with some guy," Emmett says, his mouth full of scrambled eggs.

"If you were actually listening, you would've noticed that there was no kissing," Alice chimes in. "And don't you have a fancy adult job to be at?"

"Two more weeks until tax season ends, and you won't be able to use that anymore," he points out, but he checks his watch anyway. I think he's a CPA or something. He's good at math. My best friend who was basically the most popular pot dealer in our small town during senior year is now an _accountant._ "I'll be here _all the time_."

Alice rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to me. I'm mid-sip, my mug telling her in bright purple script _not until I've had my coffee!_

I got home late last night but Alice was still up, sitting in the living room waiting for me like my dad did when I was in high school.

I told her then that we would talk in the morning because my buzz was wearing off and I was getting a headache and you know, still covered in vomit.

He had ridden the bus home with me, claiming he wanted to make sure I got home okay.

And me, thinking I'm so smart about boys, was fully thinking he was trying to get in my pants.

"If you want to come in," I'd said and offered in a low voice, "you're more than welcome to shower or do laundry."

You know, typical will-we-won't-we innuendo sex stuff.

But he seriously just wanted to make sure I got home okay.

Like.

"That's okay, I have to be up early tomorrow. But I'll call you? Or text you? Or buy a guitar from you?"

"Okay," was all I could manage, my entire face probably bright red because oh god, he definitely didn't want to sleep with me.

Alice slaps her hands on the table in front of her.

"Damn, he's so dumb-what guy doesn't punch his ticket to pound town with you?"

Emmett comes back into the room, his button down on and computer bag slung over his shoulder.

"Gross," he says, though he missed like, the entire story.

"Go account things," Alice tells him, dismissively. "So, he didn't want to come in? Seriously?"

"Seriously," I confirm, Emmett sighing behind me.

"He could've been a murderer and you almost handed him a house full of vulnerable, sleeping victims."

'Shut up, Emmett," Alice and I say together.

"Yeah, Bella spent like, the whole night with him. She'd know if he was a murderer or not," Alice defends.

"What's his last name, B?"

The fucked up part is that…I have no idea.

Do people exchange last names? Is that something they do?

"Dude," Alice says when my silence stretches a little too long. "Do you know _anything_ about him?"

I wrack my brain. He said he went to college. He has an ex-girlfriend. He works at Starbucks.

I may not know anything about him but I could write so many songs about the shape of his mouth, the specific color of his eyes, his general aura of _goodness._

"Maybe you should talk before you let him in your pants," is Emmett's parting comment, the front door slamming behind him. I know he's only teasing but he's got a point.

It's not like I'm shy about sex and stuff like that but I've only ever really done it with Mike.

Who I dated for years.

And yeah, I'll kiss random dudes that buy me drinks if I feel like it but I've never been someone to do the whole One Night Stand thing.

Would it have been a one-night stand?

I like Edward, he's easy to talk to and he's nice, but Em's right, I don't really know him as much as I'd like to. If I want this to be anything more than that, I'll have to actually talk to him. Maybe hang out in non-drunk situations.

The thought is kind of daunting.

"Invite him over for trivia night," Alice suggests, no doubt seeing the anxiety playing across my face.

"But we'll be drunk," I groan. We're always hammered on trivia night. That's the whole point.

"So?"

"He's going to think we're alcoholics."

Alice scoffs.

A group situation could be good, drunk or not.

I send Edward a text.

 _How do you feel about trivia?_

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 **Til next time, thank you for reading xoxo**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry this took so long! I've been writing it, like, two sentences at a time. I started my practicum last week (and I'm in my last semester of grad school—bless), so things have been kind of hectic.**

 **Thanks so much for reading, for reviewing, for recommending, you're all too kind.**

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Trivia at our house is a monthly thing, mostly because we're too hungover afterwards to think about doing it again any sooner.

Over the last few years, we've gone to thrift stores looking for cheap games of _Trivial Pursuit_ and _Cranium_ and anything similar. We've got cards on US History, pop culture, science, everything. Trivia Night is all packed into a plastic tub in the coat closet by the front door, and we're always mildly surprised when we open it.

"I was looking for this," Emmett says as we prepare for tonight, pulling an unopened bottle of whisky out of the bin.

"Alice, I found your red bra," Jasper calls to her, smirking as he throws it to the kitchen, where she's currently preparing snacks.

We go balls to the wall on snacks for trivia night. Pizza rolls. Chips and guacamole. Cupcakes. Even a fucking veggie tray.

And then there's the alcohol.

When Edward agreed to come over for trivia, I warned him that there was drinking involved and it is recommended that he bring whatever he's comfortable drinking a lot of.

Because drinking is like, 75% of the point.

The doorbell rings as Em is pulling cards out of the bin and I feel my palms start to sweat. I'm a little nervous.

But judging by the apprehension on his face when I open the door, Edward might be, too.

He's holding a bag full of cheap rum and cans of Coke, smiling at me.

"Find the place okay?" I ask, stepping aside to let him in.

"Yeah," he says, a little distracted. "Your house is amazing."

"Thanks."

I mean, our place is beat up, some of the siding is falling off outside but Alice and I worked hard decorating the inside. String lights everywhere, a fake Tiffany lamp in the corner. Our sofas that _would_ be mismatched if Alice hadn't recovered them with a velvety, deep blue fabric she found in a bargain bin. We're not allowed to paint the walls so we've got posters and photos covering them. Em built us some cool tables and stuff out of old crates. Usually we have instruments scattered around the room but we put them all upstairs for trivia night.

Things tend to get... rowdy.

"You met Jasper, I think," I say, pointing to him as he's backing into the kitchen, waving. "This is Emmett."

Emmett is sizing Hot Barista up. Em's tall, like six-five and Edward, though shorter, isn't _that_ much shorter. He's definitely not ripped like Emmett, who spends too much time on his stupid football workouts he learned in high school. Standing next to my best friend, Edward is lanky. A little gangly.

"Nice to meet you," Edward says politely, holding a hand out for Emmett to shake.

Emmett looks at him warily, so I tell him to, "Drop the tough-guy-dad act and be nice, you are _not_ scary."

"I'm a _little_ scary," he pouts but his face quickly morphs into his friendly, dimpled smile. "You any good at trivia, Edward?"

"Sometimes," he tells him, fighting his own smile.

"I'm great at trivia. Bella is complete shit at trivia. That's why she's always the first one out."

"Out?"

Emmett grins mischievously and clarifies, "The first to black out."

"You have to drink every time you get a question wrong," I explain.

"And she's always wrong."

Edward laughs, the cans bumping against each other in the bag with the movement.

"Mandatory food time," Alice calls from the kitchen. Everyone is required to eat at least one plate of food-to stop the whole, binge-drinking on an empty stomach kind of thing.

While Hot Barista eats pizza rolls in my kitchen, surrounded by my best friends, I can't help but feel a rush of affection for them. Alice pushes a cup full of ice at him for his drinks and Emmett asks him if he's excited for baseball season while Jasper offers him a napkin.

He catches my staring, mouthing _what?_ and fighting a smile as he pours too little rum into his glass. Emmett catches him as he sets the bottle down.

"UH-UH!"

Edward startles, knocking over an unopened can of Coke.

"What did I do?" He asks, his thick eyebrows pulled together, hands up defensively.

"You did a little bitch pour is what you did," Emmett scolds, picking up the bottle of rum.

"Emmett," Alice and I warn at the same time.

"Forgive him, he doesn't have a filter," Alice explains.

"But you did do a little bitch pour," I add, smirking at the way he rolls his eyes. "We have to make it fair."

"Give me a real pour then," he tells Em, though his eyes don't leave mine. There's electricity there. Hot Barista and I should definitely make out at some point.

No.

No making out.

Hands and mouth to myself.

He winces when he takes a sip of his newly corrected drink and it's so fucking cute I can barely deal. His mouth screws up tight, his shoulders pull in.

Emmett passes me a cup of plain gin and I take a gulp, holding his stare. I don't wince. I don't react.

On the outside.

It burns going down, but the gin's got nothing on Edward's stare.

I hate this whole getting-to-know-him-before-kissing-him shit.

In my head, I'm like, _tell me about your childhood while I blow you._

Too much?

Too soon?

I motion for Em to pour me another shot.

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I'm drunk.

Not _too_ drunk, but drunk enough that there's a sway to my step as I pace around the couch, trying to think of Vermont's state nickname.

I'm so shit at geography and they all know it. I think they're cheating, but I'm too buzzed to prove it.

"The who-the-fuck-cares state?" I throw out because Emmett's starting to hum the Jeopardy theme.

Everyone in the room makes the buzzer sound with their mouths, because obviously, I'm wrong.

"It's the Green Mountain state you dummy!" Jasper yells, pointing and laughing. Hot Barista sits next to him, grinning and pretty drunk himself.

Because while I'm shit at knowing about mountains and states and chemical compounds, Edward is terrible at pop culture. He's never seen _The Office_ and didn't know any of the members of One Direction.

"Drink!" Alice giggles from the far end of the room, hoarding a tray of brownies and I take a big gulp of my rum and coke, courtesy of Edward _Cullen_.

That's right, bitches.

I know that Hot Barista's last fucking name.

It wasn't some big event or anything, before we all got into the thick of trivia, I'd just asked, "hey, what's your last name?"

And his handsome mouth smiled and told me, "Cullen."

He looked amused. He always looks amused with me. Which makes me nervous, because I'm not _trying_ to be _amusing_ , I'm just...being myself.

I don't really know any other way to be.

So, now I'm pacing around them all, drinking and swaying and being terrible at knowing things,

And then, the most incredible thing happens.

Edward Cullen stops me when I'm in front of him, his hand closing around my forearm and tugging me gently to the spot next to him.

My arm burns. My face is flushed.

"You're making me nervous," he says, his voice low in my ear. His breath is hot against my neck.

I'm positively _on_ for him.

While I'm plotting ways to sneak him up to my room without getting heckled by the rest of the room, Edward rolls the dice and gets a six, which means _lightning round_.

So, Jasper picks up a pile of cards from the "topic" box. He's going to ask Edward every single question in the stack and he has to drink for every single one he misses.

Topic cards are always the hardest.

World history.

Geology.

"Anatomy and physiology."

The room groans in sympathy.

"Longest bone in the human body?"

With zero hesitation, Edward says, "femur."

And then it's like fucking Rain Man or something because he gets every. Single. One. Right.

"Inferior vena cavae."

"Three."

"Circulatory system."

"0.8 pounds."

And on and on and on.

We're all stunned. Jasper forgets to ask the last few questions.

"How the fuck did you do that?" Emmett asks, eyes wide.

I feel Edward shrug beside me.

"Med school," he replies simply.

Alice drops the tray of brownies.

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 **I want to play this trivia game, to be honest.**


	9. Chapter 9

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Silence hangs in the room around us, everyone too freaked out to speak.

Med school? As in _medical school_? As in, like, _he's going to be a doctor?!_

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I groan aloud, misery overtaking me.

"Not the reaction that usually get," he mutters, obviously confused.

"You're a _barista_! At Starbucks!"

"Trying to make some money before I start my residency," he explains with another shrug, watching Alice pick her tray of brownies up off the floor.

"Damn, so you're like, a genius," Emmett says, fighting a smile. Edward laughs, shaking his head, his ears turning red.

This dude is embarrassed about being a fucking doctor.

I'm already halfway to shame-spiraling out of control.

Any chance I _thought_ I had with him is dead on the table in front of us.

He's in medical school.

I barely have a high school diploma.

Edward's leg shifts and his thigh presses against mine. I flush at the contact, burning though layers of clothes. My heart is hammering, I feel like I'm 15 again with this stupid crush.

Does this mean I have to stop referring to him as Hot Barista in my head? Dr. Hot Barista?

This is so…

I don't even know.

I'm too drunk to form a coherent opinion about this-all I can feel is, you know, _what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-here_.

As we get back to the game, I'm aware of how loud Alice laughs and how little I know about anything substantial.

Who wrote _Ulysses_?

What is the longest river in the United States?

What's the official language of Senegal?

I don't know. I don't know. Idon'tknow.

Jasper must sense my growing anxiety because he nudges my foot with his, putting his fingers to his lips in a silent question.

Hell yes I want to smoke in the bathroom.

Edward watches me as we sneak away, I can feel his eyes on me as I climb the stairs. I sit on the edge of the bathtub while Jasper packs his bowl, humming to himself.

After he takes the first hit and hands it to me, he asks, "do you want to talk about it?"

The smoke burns in my throat as I try not to cough. Jasper fiddles with the little window near the ceiling, swinging it open and laughing when it smacks against the siding outside.

"He's gonna be a doctor, Jas," I say, my voice sounding as fuzzy as my head feels. I take another big hit.

"Can he play guitar?" Jasper asks, looking at me, almost-bored, reaching for the bowl.

"What the fuck does that matter?"

"Well, can he?"

"No, I don't think so."

"So, he does something you can't do and you do something he can't do."

I laugh and laugh and laugh while he rolls his eyes.

"Being able to play a song and being able to save somebody's life are two very different skills."

Jasper's stoned ass has the nerve to say, "it's all about perspective."

I take one last hit before leaving him perched on the tank of the toilet.

As the weed starts to loosen the knot in my stomach and my chest, I'm ready to get back to the game. Ready to have fun.

But then, Alice moves to take my place upstairs and Emmett and Edward have the TV on, checking the scores for the UDub basketball game. Cards lay abandoned around the room, it seems the game is over. I post up in the kitchen, attempting to clean up a little, but I get distracted by the pizza rolls that have gone cold on the table.

I'm so fucking hungry and am like, halfway through the plate when Edward wanders in, finding me cross-legged on a chair.

"Hungry?" I ask, mouth full. He grins, grabbing a bag of chips.

We stare at each other as we eat, his eyes not being able to focus.

"Emmett make you take shots while I was gone?" I ask and he nods absently. "You wanna watch a movie?"

Another smile, this one softer.

"Yeah, okay."

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Getting stoned and watching _Superbad_ is in my top ten favorite things to do.

Doing it with Edward bumps it up to number one.

We cry laughing through like, the whole thing, Edward's arm pressed right against me, I feel his body shake and shift next to me with every line.

"I was totally Seth in high school," I say. "Minus the dick drawing."

"That's like, the essence of his character," Edward says and I know he's joking but still.

"It's just like, he doesn't know what he's doing in terms of the shit that matters. He feels like all his friends have it all figured out and are gonna leave him behind."

"And you thought that was gonna happen to you?" he asks, turning away from the TV and putting his full attention on me.

"I mean, it did, kind of, except for Em. But he's like my brother-so he's stuck with me." I consider all the friends I had in high school. The ones that I thought were 3am'ers but turned out to be too busy with their fancy new lives to do anything but ask me if I knew anyone who sold adderall because they have finals to study for all night.

And fucking Mike who traded me in for some frizzy-haired, latte-guzzling genius.

"What about you?" I ask, breaking the silence as well as his stare.

"Nah, I was never a dick-drawer."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't really talk to anyone from high school, I never really talked to anyone while I was _still_ in high school."

"Lone wolf," I tease. "Bad boy? You ride a motorcycle and scare freshmen?"

Edward snorts a laugh.

"Yeah, as if I had time to be anything."

"What do you mean?"

My heart is singing, _learning about the hot barista, the hot barista with the last name I know, learning so much la la lalalala._

God, I'm so high.

"Between the lessons and the volunteer hours and practices and whatever, having a life kind of got lost in the shuffle."

"That's fucking sad," I tell him and it's the truth. He nods.

"Don't I know it. So, instead of going to some fancy med school out East like my dad wanted, I've stuck around here."

"Yikes, this isn't a _that's-not-my-dream-dad!-it's-yours!_ kind of situation is it?"

"No, don't get me wrong, I want to be a doctor, I just don't want to only be a doctor. Does that make sense?"

"Wanna be known as more than just a dick drawer," I say and he bumps my arm with his.

"Exactly. To others and to myself."

"Deep. Jasper smoke you up when I wasn't looking?"

I'm messing with him, but it's all a lame attempt to keep from bombarding him with questions.

"I wish," he mutters. "Can't risk it with the drug testing they do."

I scrunch my nose up at the thought.

"Sounds lame."

I like the feel of his body heat next to me, the way he's talking to me about this stupid movie in the same span of time it takes to divulge so many personal details. It's comfortable but there's also the potential for intimacy there, like we're dancing around the gap, neither of us quite ready to jump in.

So, for now, we sit next to each other on my couch, barely touching-but still close enough to keep warm.

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 **thanks for reading xoxoxoxo**

 **Superbad is one of my favorite movies—everytime I watch the scene with Jonah Hill yelling at Michael Cera about the bottle of lube I fuckin lose it.**

 **Classic.**


	10. Chapter 10

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"-said that would happen if you didn't-"

"Mom."

Sunday.

I'm hungover.

So. hungover.

Mom keeps talking to my dad about something the doctor told him and I can hear him grumbling on the other end of the line.

Why did they call so early?

I put the call on speaker to check the time.

Aaaand it's after noon.

I hate sleeping so late, it's such a waste of my day off.

"Anyway, Bella, how was your week?" Dad interjects loudly, successfully changing the topic.

"Fine, played a little gig with Jake the other day."

Oh, and I've been hanging out with a doctor.

I took a doctor to that little gig and someone puked on us.

My stomach churns at the memory.

They hesitate, neither of them really understanding that this whole "music thing" is more than a hobby for me and unless I'm playing like, Madison Square Garden, it doesn't seem worthwhile.

"You sound tired," Mom points out, not even acknowledging that I've said anything.

"Late night last night," I mumble. Edward stayed til after five this morning, both of us drinking and burning through as many Judd Apatow movies as we could. He bailed halfway through _The 40 Year Old Virgin_ as I was starting to drift to sleep, claiming he had a funeral to go to in a few hours.

"Oh, your girlfriend's dad?" I'd asked, watching him get to his feet, stretching his arms over his head. A delicious sliver of skin visible as his shirt rode up, his eyes closed in satisfaction at the loosening of his muscles.

It was...a lot.

"Ex-girlfriend," he clarified. "But yes, though, he was really a close family friend. He'd been friends with my dad since before I was born."

"I'm sorry," I'd said, though it sounded so...lame. It did. _I'm sorry_ is such a noncommittal thing to say.

I hope it didn't come across as insincere.

Edward had shrugged, slipping his shoes on. "Like I said, we knew it was coming. He was sick for a long time."

"Still sucks."

He'd smiled then, just a little bit.

"Still sucks," he'd agreed softly.

He started backing towards the door and I followed him, my limbs stiff and head starting to hurt. I wanted him to stay, stay all day and sleep in my bed with me.

"Thanks for hanging out with us," I'd told him as he stepped into the early morning mist, his eyes squinting in the darkness.

"Thank you for inviting me. I had a lot of fun." So proper. So polite.

"Me, too."

He hesitated on the stoop, not sure how exactly to say goodbye. I wasn't sure either. It's not like this was a date, so I waved like a moron and he laughed as he waved back.

"See you later," he'd said and-

"Bella?"

Mom's still on the phone.

 _I'm_ still on the phone.

"Sorry, zoned out for a second, what did you say?" She sighs, annoyed.

"I swear, we should have gotten you tested for ADD. But I was just asking if you were planning on coming up for your dad's birthday. I think Emmett already said he'd come."

"You know if Em will drive me, I'll be there."

Cons of not having a car? I can't go back to Forks all the time.

Pros? I can't go back to Forks all the time.

She keeps talking about his birthday like he's not even in the car. It's not like it ever varies-we go to the Lodge for dinner. He hates a big fuss.

"Well, hopefully we'll see you in a few weeks," Dad says, his voice hopeful. It makes me feel guilty for dreading these phone calls, for only coming home when Em decides.

But then Mom brings up another one of my high-school classmates' successes and the feeling is gone.

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Alice is sorting through our first Record Store Day shipment, fawning over the special editions while Shelly looks on, skeptical. I'm sitting on the counter, waiting for my next lesson, just playing little riffs on my guitar.

Record Store Day is a big deal, it's one of our most profitable days because of these limited edition vinyls. Shelly doesn't necessarily get it, she's never heard of any of the bands and most of the patrons who come in that day are young.

In Shelly's ideal world, everyone would be over 30 and buying vintage Otis Redding records.

"Oh my _god_ , it's so beautiful," Alice whimpers, her fingers stroking the metallic finish on the sleeve of some indie band's debut album.

"So flashy," Shelly mutters. "What day is this anyway?"

"Two weeks from Saturday," I say, letting the chord I'm playing fade out. "I'm thinking we can start advertising now. On social media."

Shelly looks annoyed, her mouth turning into a wrinkled frown.

That's another thing she doesn't get.

I keep playing as she moves to go to her office, Alice shaking her head.

Once the door closes, she says, "god, she's getting old."

I think about that a lot, and I'm so afraid of what's going to happen when she inevitably wants to retire. What's going to happen to the shop? To us?

I focus on my guitar, pushing the anxiety down.

"You writing anything new?" Alice asks, her eyes following my strumming patterns.

"Yeah, just a little something."

In all honesty, I can't _stop_ writing. It's been nearly a week since Trivia Night and while I haven't seen Edward outside of my daily coffee break, he's texted me a few times. He's busy with, you know, med school, so I get it.

He's inspiring a ton of new music in his absence. It's stupid but I like, _miss_ him when I'm not around him, which is really all the time lately. I like his presence, like learning things about him. In a friend way.

I have to keep reminding myself of that.

Especially now as the bells over the door are ringing and Edward Cullen is making his way towards me, grinning his crooked smile.

"Hey," he says, wearing his all-black Starbucks get up, his shirt a little tight and hugging the lean muscles in his torso.

He hands Alice, and then me, coffees and leans against the counter, his hip flush against my knee.

It's all very overwhelming.

"What are you playing?" he asks, his auburn hair flopping into his eyes as he nods towards my guitar. I watch as he pushes it back with his long fingers running a hand through it and mussing it up.

"Just a little something I've been working on," I tell him and I congratulate myself on being even remotely coherent.

"Can I hear it?"

As I play, I don't sing the words I've written to go along with it, the words that come to me at night, when he's sending me texts about his day and asking me about mine.

 _You won't ever know me_

 _I still let my dreams fill with your face_

 _oh, no_

He's bobbing his head, watching my fingers find the chords.

 _Show me why my heart beats_

 _Give me how it feels without the pain_

 _oh, no_

"This is really good, Bella," he says and his smile melts me. My next lesson is coming in, but I feel like I'm glued to this spot on the counter next to him.

 _I Just wanna know what you're like_

 _I Just wanna try._

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 **song: 'try' by soccer mommy**

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 **ugh, im having so much fun writing this, thank you for reading this little drabble.**


	11. Chapter 11

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I'm hopeless at the drums. I can keep tempo and do easy stuff but I'm nowhere near as good as I want to be. Jasper is endlessly patient with me, giving me tips while I mess around, sweating and thrashing about on his kit in the back of the shop. He's looking over some of my lyrics and chords for some of the songs I've been writing lately, helping come up with the right beats.

"This chorus is really cool, Bella," he muses. "So poetic."

I laugh until my sides hurt because the whole song was inspired by watching cartoons with Edward the other day. He'd stopped over at Ballard as I was closing up. He wasn't working at Starbucks that day, meaning he sought me out.

I was practically floating when I saw him waiting for me.

"My brain is melting," he'd groaned, skipping a greeting.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I'd laughed. "Studying not going well?"

He has a big test coming up, some kind of final or something. He'd tried to explain it to me over one of my coffee breaks earlier in the week but I had no idea what a single word meant.

"I can't study anymore," he'd said, "I might actually die."

"You need a proper break, from like, all of it."

"What's a 'break'?" he'd joked, walking with me to my bus stop. He's too charming for his own good, his hands in his pockets, a spring in his step.

"I'll show you," I told him, grinning.

So, I did what I did best: pretended adulthood was a non-thing. When we got back to my place, I got us both huge bowls of Cap'n Crunch and set us up in front of the TV, scrolling through the channels until I found something adequately childish.

We settled on a Peanuts special.

Cartoons and cereal like it was a Saturday morning instead of a Thursday night. Alice and Jasper were having a date night and Em was floating in and out of the room, making comments and harassing Edward.

Sitting cross-legged on the couch, my knee was against his thigh, occasionally his fingers would brush across the fabric of my jeans. I was burning, my heart thumping painfully.

"I haven't seen Charlie Brown since I was little," he'd said, resting his head on the back of the couch.

"It's good for all ages," I told him. "These lessons are timeless."

"Lessons? Like not trusting a girl with a football?"

I pushed him, playfully, and tried my damnedest to not let my touch linger. Easier said than done.

"Like Pigpen. He's a very complex character."

"Pigpen?"

"Yes, _Edward,_ Pigpen has it all figured out. I think the dirt is a defense mechanism. Maybe he just doesn't want anyone to get close to him."

He'd just stared at me, his tentative smile ghosted with bewilderment.

"What? It's totally valid!"

"You're so weird."

And when his smile widened at the sight of my cheeks turning pink, it took everything in me to not climb into his goddamn lap.

The easiest way to stop my thoughts of the future doctor being anything more than a friend, is to remind myself that I'm nothing compared to him, I'm going nowhere. He's got the world ahead of him and I'm some weird footnote to distract him from shit when it gets too serious.

I'm not stupid.

Just aimless.

Lazy.

So, now, writing this song with Jasper, I'm overcome with...emptiness.

Worthlessness.

"Damn poetry," Jasper mutters again, and I shrug.

 _And I would spread my wings, if they weren't so goddamn heavy._

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When Jake calls me with the offer of a gig, Edward and Alice are arguing over something stupid while she works the counter at Ballard. I've got a free ten minutes and I've spent most of them listening to them, staring at Edward and the dark circles under his eyes.

I don't know how he does it, all motivated to do this hard-ass program to do a hard-ass job.

But I excuse myself from my ogling as my phone rings.

"Bella, I need a favor."

"Anything," I say, matching his breathy voice.

"You and Jasper free on Saturday? We have a gig over at The Lantern and some guy from Duck for Cover might come listen to us."

Jake talks so fast.

Jesus,

"You know I will, that's so exciting!"

It is, but I can't help but feel a little jealous. Another person living their dream.

Another person _having_ a dream.

"Who was that?" Alice asks when I return to the front. Edward studies my face, which I'm trying to keep composed, trying to not let my crummy feelings spill out.

"Oh, um, just Jake. He wants Jas and I to open for them on Saturday. A rep might be coming to check them out."

Alice squeals in excitement, while Edward's smile is small, his eyes searching mine for...more.

His attention on me is unwelcome at this moment, and thankfully, my next lesson is heading to the back, giving me the perfect excuse to bail.

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"Maybe I'll pull a Reese Witherspoon and hike the PCT."

I'm lying on the floor in the living room, Jasper and Emmett are trying to watch the end of the UDub game and I'm bugging them with my quarter life crisis.

"You do know she wasn't the one who actually did that, right?" Jasper points out, his eyes never leaving the TV.

"Plus, you'd die," Emmett adds, ever-helpful and supportive.

"You'd definitely die," Jasper agrees.

"Okay then, a Julia Roberts and Eat-Pray-Love my way to meaning?"

"Again—not actually her. You really need to read more."

"Shut up, Jasper," I grumble. I'm being insane, I know, but with everyone being all successful and focused, I'm desperate.

Like, I want to get better at existing, but I don't actually want to take any steps to get there.

I'm full of self-loathing and I have no idea what to do about it—any of it. My phone buzzes and I know it's Edward.

Just a little text, _I'm excited to come to your show. Alice invited me, hope that's okay._

My heart thunders in my ears. He's going to watch me play. Songs I wrote. Some of which are definitely about him.

Now that I know who he is, what he's like, I'm terrified to show him these parts of myself because they're all I have to offer.

These silly little songs that will never be enough for anyone, not even myself.

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 **song: 'pigpen' by slothrust**

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 **More of this song coming up, it's a great one.**

 **My poor sad Bella. I'm glad you guys are enjoying her, she's very close to my heart.**


	12. Chapter 12

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Jasper is keeping my nerves in check, blowing smoke in my face while I sip at a glass of tequila and orange juice.

Too poor to get the actual Tequila Sunrise.

There's a big crowd tonight at the Lantern—Jake and Leah's band is pretty popular in the scene and everyone is eager to be a good audience, to help them make it.

They are definitely not here to watch Jasper and me, I know this, but I'm still nervous.

Always nervous.

I'm probably 10 time worse than I usually am because Dr. Hot Barista is standing with Em and Alice close to the stage, joking and laughing with them like he belongs.

Maybe he does.

Over the past couple of weeks, he's been seamlessly integrated into our little group.

It's strange, but it works.

"10 minutes," someone calls out to us, though I'm not sure who. I can see Jake pacing while Leah and Sam peek around the side of the stage, trying to figure out who the rep from Duck for Cover is.

"This isn't the biggest show we've played," Jasper reminds me, his eyes staring at bouncing knee. He's right, of course. We played a local showcase a couple of years ago that had a crowd three times this size.

The difference though, is not in the numbers. No, the difference is Edward.

And when it's time for us to go on, as I'm plugging my guitar in and Jasper's saying we're called the BeeJays, I see my friends and Edward right up front, grinning like idiots. Alice gives me a thumbs up, Em winks, and Edward…he just smiles.

It replaces my pre-show jitters with longing, with crush-fueled butterflies in my stomach.

Here goes nothing.

We start out with an older song, one we both know like the back of our hands, to get our confidence up. The lights are bright enough so that I can't really see much of the crowd, but I can see my friends moving in the front, Emmett nearly headbanging and Alice flitting around. Edward's eyes don't leave me. Even when I'm not looking at him, I feel them burning holes in me.

It's distracting, I have to move back, facing Jasper as we build off each other. I can see Leah and Jake at the edge of the stage, dancing along. But once the song fades out, when I stop strumming and let the last chord ring out loudly, I have to go back to face the crowd. They're cheering, Alice is whistling, and Edward looks...blown away.

By me.

By _me_.

My face is already red from the exertion of playing, so my blush must go unnoticed. I'm feeling better, Jasper glances at the little setlist we came up with and I hear him count us off quietly.

I wrote this song for Edward.

I want to sing it to him, too.

 _You have got an open mouth,_

 _And I have got an open wound._

He knows I'm watching him watching me, our eyes are locked.

 _And I would spread my wings,_

 _If they weren't so goddamn heavy,_

 _Yeah, I would spread my wings,_

 _If they weren't coated in honey,_

This song is too honest. It's too much.

But his eyes don't leave me and I keep going. Maybe he's okay with knowing someone like me.

 _But I will wash my hands for you,_

 _I'm sure that I could get them clean._

 _I won't be gentle anymore,_

 _I'll use expensive soap,_

 _I'll scrub aggressively._

Does he know that this is me trying? That this is me _not_ being Pigpen? The one who keeps himself dirty to keep others out? Is my lack of drive my own filth?

Can I keep pretending like I enjoy being this way?

 _Being dirty is practical,_

 _Everyone leaves you alone._

 _When you're sticking to yourself,_

 _You don't want nobody else._

I go back to my chorus, the one Jasper called poetic. Edward is smiling at me, he knows what I'm referencing. He _knows_.

And that makes my heart hurt, in a way I can't quite explain as being good or bad.

I try to keep my cool when I sing the final verse, play my final chords.

 _Suckin' flies into my throat,_

 _Coughin' up nests on my chest_

 _We could live together there,_

 _Never fly to anywhere._

And fuck, if I hadn't been looking right at him, maybe he wouldn't see this as some sort call to him. But I am looking right at him.

He's blinking, but a slow smile makes its way onto his face.

In my daze, I somehow finish the set. I sing more old songs, ones that aren't about him, and it's easier to get through it.

When I'm off stage, and at the bar, chugging water and listening to passerbys tell me that we were _so good!_ , my friends fight their way to me, Alice looking out for Jasper, who is taking his sweet time. Emmett high fives me, his praise makes me want to sing all over again.

"You sang my song!" Em says, his grin impossibly big-so much so that his dimples are barely even visible. I laugh, rolling my eyes. I'd written a song for him for Christmas last year, and he never lets it go.

Maybe I don't need support from my actual family when I get it in droves from the one I've chosen to surround myself with. It's a nice thought, but it's easier said than done.

And then.

Edward.

He's leaning against the bar next to me, ordering a beer and telling the bartender to make me whatever I want and to put it on his tab.

"You don't have to do that," I tell him, but I order a gin and tonic anyway.

"That was incredible, Bella," he says, his breath tickling my cheek. He's so close.

"Thanks," I laugh shakily.

"I can't believe you wrote all those songs. I can't believe you turned Pigpen into the best song I've ever heard."

"Oh stop," I say, ducking my head.

And then, his goddamn fingers touch my chin and tilt my face up so he can look at me.

Really, truly look at me.

"You really don't see it," he murmurs, letting go.

"See what?" I hate how soft my voice is. How small.

"How incredible you are."

We're frozen, him looking satisfied at the disbelieving look on my face.

I want to kiss him.

But my friends are here and Jasper is back and everyone is rowdy and pulling me away from him, from his kindness, from his earnestness.

When Jake takes the stage, the crowd loses it, singing along to every word he sings to them. The Replacements don't look as bored as they usually do, which is really saying something. The rep is here somewhere, and he's getting the best show they've ever put on.

We rejoin the throngs of people, not wanting to miss out on the action, and I feel Edward behind me, with people moving around, jostling us, my back makes contact with his chest and it's beautiful agony. I feel his hand on my hip once, steadying us, and I want nothing more than to lean into him, to feel his arms wrap around my middle.

They don't, of course, but this closeness is enough for now.

This man thinks I'm incredible.

And it's shitty to think that I'd need a guy to say that to me in order for me to believe it. I don't want to be that girl.

But then his hands grip my hips again, lingering longer than they need to, and I let myself hope-hope that he's telling the truth, that he sees that in me.

That maybe, he feels this, too.

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 **song: 'pigpen' by slothrust**

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thank you all so much for all your responses to this story, and thank you to those who are rec'ing this on facebook!


	13. Chapter 13

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Em and I drive up to Forks on a Sunday, so I don't have to miss more than one shift at work. Early in the morning, we pile into his Jeep, his CD player automatically spinning some old mix we made together in high school. He thinks playing the old songs gets us in a better headspace, the nostalgia for the music carrying over into our nostalgia for our lives in Forks.

Yeah fucking right.

If it was up to me, I would never step foot in that town ever again.

With their judgmental stares and small-minded politics.

Their lack of tolerance for anyone different.

The way they make my parents feel embarrassed of my choices.

Emmett knows I get like this. He lets me put the window down a little even though it's still too cold outside and we get donuts on our way out of town.

We're blasting blink-182 and as we leave the city we're in the trees and it's so green.

Which isn't like, a bad thing. I'm not like, a nature-hater. The city is just better for me.

I check my phone over and over. I know Edward isn't going to text me this early, he'd said he had to go to church with his parents or something.

It's weird to think of him as religious, though he admitted that he really wasn't.

"It's just to placate my mother," he told me the other day when we were sitting out front of the shop, our lunch breaks overlapping. He ate his sandwich so neatly, so carefully. I got pasta sauce on myself almost immediately.

"But I like the meditative aspect of it. It's nice to have a quiet time to think," he'd continued, dabbing at a non-existent crumb on his lip with a napkin.

"I tried meditation once," I'd offered. "It was like, the longest minute of my life."

Edward laughed, "that does not surprise me at all."

He'd asked if I was going to be around this weekend, if I wanted to go to the movies or something since he has Sunday afternoon off after church.

And while my heart felt like it was going to jump out of my throat, I had to tell him that I was going home.

"Where's home?"

He'd never heard of Forks, though he seemed vaguely interested.

"You get along with your parents?"

I shrugged, picking at the drying stain on my sweater.

"I guess. We don't hate each other or anything, they just have very different expectations for my life than I'm currently living out."

He nodded, thoughtful. "I get that, my parents are the same way. When I told my dad I was thinking about pediatrics and not neurosurgery or whatever, I thought he was going to have a stroke."

"Pediatrics? Like kids?" Final nail in the Edward-Cullen-is-a-literal-saint coffin.

"Yeah, I start my residency at Seattle Children's in May."

"Wow," was all I could say because...wow.

We're getting close to Forks and I'm trying my hand at quiet reflection, of quasi-meditation.

It's hard, I don't know how people quiet their heads. Emmett turns the music up and it helps a little. I focus on the song instead of the dwindling miles between us and home.

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Mom notices my phone buzzing a lot while we eat club sandwiches in the mismatched chairs around the table in the kitchen of my childhood home. My dad's at work for a few more hours and Emmett has to go stop in to see his Folks soon.

Which means I'll be alone with my Mom for at least two hours.

The thought makes me itchy.

She's still staring at me, her sapphire eyes narrowed in interest.

"Who are you? The Queen of England?"

"Like that dinosaur knows how to use a phone," I mutter, checking the screen.

Alice.

Alice.

Edward.

"Red face means it's Ed—" Emmett begins but I punch him in the arm.

"Ed?" Mom perks up, craning her neck to look at my phone. "Are you seeing someone? What does he do?"

"He's a priest, Mom. He's trying to exorcise me. I'm doing this for _you._ "

Emmett snorts but Mom doesn't think I'm funny.

"He works at the Starbucks by the shop. We're friends."

I give Emmett a look that tells him he should drop it.

I haven't explicitly told him that I have a mega-crush on Hot Barista but he's not blind.

Alice's texts are pointless, just a buzzfeed quiz she wants me to take so we can compare answers. Edward just sends me a picture of a bucket of popcorn and a movie screen in the background. _Vertigo_.

What a nerd.

His accompanying text said simply, _wish you were here._

I wish I was, too.

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Dinner isn't as bad as I thought it would be. Dad is happy to see me and Emmett, and he likes gift—a new drill that Em completely paid for but let me put my name on the card. My dad's smile is big, his graying moustache not enough to hide it. My mom's sipping her third glass of wine, Emmett and I are sticking to soda, while my dad drinks his gross scotch.

Watching me push the wilted lettuce of my salad around, my mom takes the opportunity to make a snarky remark.

"You're going to get scurvy. Does she eat any vegetables at all, Emmett?"

Em looks mildly uncomfortable. He's never known how to deal with her after she's gotten a few drinks in her.

But then again, it's not like she's ever targeted him with her commentary.

"I eat plenty of vegetables, Mom. This salad just sucks."

"We'll get you something else," Dad says, wanting to avoid a fight.

"Dad, don't. It's fine. See?" I take a bite, the rubbery texture feeling gross on my tongue.

That's the only near-incident of the evening. I eat my crappy salad and Emmett and my dad talk about the Forks High football team while my mom continues to drink wine, fluffing her dark hair and looking at me like she wants to say something, but doesn't.

She's drunk and tired when we get home and so she and my dad post up on the couch, both of them asleep within an hour. Emmett and I sneak out, going to the McDonalds at the edge of town. We take hamburgers and fries back to my room at home and we sit on my old, braided rug on the wood floor.

"God, let's never do today ever again," I say, mouth full. Emmett nods.

"Amen, sister. Your parents are insane but mine just...suck."

I frown.

"What'd they do this time?"

"Well, mom was doped up on valium or something and my dad was doing his best to get the fuck out of the house. She says he's cheating on her. I think she's right."

"Jesus, Em."

He shrugs, swiping at ketchup on his lip.

"I just wish they'd just get divorced and get it over with. We'd all be a lot happier."

"I'm sorry they're so shitty."

"Me, too."

"Wanna leave right after breakfast tomorrow?"

"Fuck yes, let's go to bed so we're out of here sooner."

We're laughing again, finishing our food, and then he's heading to the guest room, leaving me alone.

Most of my personal stuff is gone from my room, either tossed or packed into boxes. My rug that I made in middle school out of old t-shirts is still here, and a few photos are framed on the walls, but the quilt is new and mostly unused, the walls painted a beige instead of the navy blue it used to be.

Not quite tired yet, I reach for the old acoustic guitar in the corner of the room, covered in a thick layer of dust. I wipe it off with the bed-skirt, tuning it as quietly as I can.

I'd spent so many hours in this room, strumming on guitars and singing songs while my parents passed through the hallway, glancing in and suggesting that, maybe, I should do some homework.

I sit cross legged on this stupid, stiff bed and strum, feeling like I'm fucking fourteen again and dying to get out of this stupid town.

I'll put these feelings in a song and let myself think of Edward for the first time in so many hours today, and I realize I didn't get to ask him about his parents.

I wonder if he'd like my parents or if he'd sit in this room with me, whispering into my hair about how fast we could get out of here.

I wish I'd known him when I was younger, when he was younger.

I put the guitar down, turning out the lights. I listen to the tree branches scrape against the window as I lay on top of the quilt, staring at my phone, trying to figure out how to ask Edward everything there is to know about him.

I settle on, _are you free at all tomorrow?_

And we'll have to go from there.

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 **about to get a little busy this weekend/next week, so I'll update ASAP! Thanks for reading xoxoxo**


	14. Chapter 14

**Bronchitis is a cruel, cruel mistress. Sorry this took so long.**

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Record Store Day is better than Christmas.

It's my favorite day.

Even though I have to get up at the ass-crack of dawn to get prepped and Shelly is always grumbling and hovering, it's everything I love.

Music fans.

Special edition vinyl.

Smiling faces.

And not to mention a huge profit. Alice and I'd spent the last week blowing up the shop's twitter and Instagram, sneak peaks of some of what we'll offer. I snap a pic of the line already forming outside, putting it online with the caption, _why aren't you here yet?_

"Ten minutes," Alice calls from her spot at the back of the shop. She's finishing up some organizational stuff, we usually have all the specific Record Store Day releases behind the counter, all lined up to keep things moving as quickly as possible. We only have the one ancient register, which is a pain in the ass, but Shelly isn't comfortable with the newer tech.

Another pain in the ass.

I tried all morning to convince her to stay in her office, but she wouldn't hear it. Instead, she's taken up post within all the instruments, convinced that someone is going to break something in some sort of stampede.

As if she's going to be able to stop that.

She's totally fucking losing it.

When Jasper opens the doors, we get in our little assembly line. They're grabbing stuff as people ask for it and I'm doing the register, hitting the side of it when it freezes.

The day is a blur, people dropping a couple hundred bucks on some one-time-only releases and I don't even have time to realize that Edward is edging his way through the crowd with a drink carrier and a bag.

"Figured you guys could use some sustenance," he says, drawing my attention away from whatever and whoever is in front of me for a brief moment. He's got his green apron on, the one that I've fantasized about taking off too many times and his hair is shorter than it usually is.

Not in like, a bad way. Just different.

It doesn't fall into his eyes or curl around his neck.

"Haircut," is all I can manage as I try to swing my focus back on the customer. I need him to leave, but I want him to stay.

He laughs softly.

"Yeah, I was starting to look unprofessional, I guess."

I want to ask him to elaborate, to keep him talking, but fuck, we're so busy and I can feel Shelly staring.

"Do you want to do something when this is over?" I ask, tearing the receipt off the printer. The ink smears when I touch the corner.

He's nodding and saying, "Yeah, that would be cool. I'm off at 4 so just let me know."

"Thanks for the coffee," I tell him as he's leaving. "You're a lifesaver."

That brilliant smile illuminates his whole face.

And then he's gone, back to Starbucks, while I plaster my own smile on my face, ready to help whoever's next.

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My feet are killing me and my voice is hoarse by the time I'm done and meeting Edward at some pizza place near UDub. Alice made kissy faces when I left Ballard and Shelly made sure to let me know that Edward is "hot stuff."

He's already inside when I get there, sitting in a booth in the back, drinking a glass of dark beer.

"You survived," he says with a grin as I slide into the empty seat across from him.

"Barely," I mumble, wanting nothing more than to go to bed. Preferably, with the Hot Barista across from me.

"How was your day?"

Edward smiles to himself before saying, "it was fine. Work was boring, I don't have to study for anything tonight."

"Oooh, you got the whole world for the taking," I tease, the exhaustion from my day evolving into a comfortable grogginess, calm and content in Edward's presence. He rolls his eyes.

"I've got an early class tomorrow and then a full day of labs, so unfortunately, only some of the world."

"Maybe pizza and beer is enough, then," I offer as the waiter makes his way over to us.

Edward's expression softens at my words, his forest eyes shining, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Definitely enough."

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"How did you find this place?" I moan, the cheese stringing from the slice of veggie pizza to my lips. It's hot and heavenly.

This is the first time I've eaten since the muffin Edward brought me this morning and I'm trying to not devour the entire pie between us.

"I live like a block from here," he says, picking a mushroom off his own slice and putting it on my plate. That small action feels intimate and it makes my heart flutter.

"Oh yeah? Apartment?"

He nods, taking a sip of his beer.

"Yeah, I live there with my cousin. It's small but it beats living at home."

"Cheers to that," I laugh, raising my cup. He knocks his against mine, the liquid sloshing and foaming at the contact.

"You'd like my cousin," he muses. "I hope you guys get to meet sometime."

"That would be cool," I say, my cheeks reddening at the thought of being pulled further into his life.

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We walk around Edward's neighborhood after he pays the bill. It's finally getting warmer and the rain is minimal, just a light mist.

He points out restaurants he likes and shows me his favorite movie theatre, the one that plays the classics on Sunday afternoons. Our hands nearly touch so often, swinging in the space between us, that I have to put them in my jacket pockets to stop myself from grabbing him.

From holding his hand as we walk through the streets.

I love walking the city, there's so much going on all the time, the air is charged with possibility. It helps me think. I usually walk alone, but it's different with Edward. I'm on edge, though not in a bad way.

I'm clouded with feelings of lust and affection as his hair dampens and darkens and he fills in the little details of his life.

He's become more than just the Hot Barista Across the Street.

Even though we're close to his place, he rides the bus home with me, making sure I get there okay. It makes me warm.

He hovers outside my door and for the millionth time, I want to kiss him.

"Thank you for hanging out with me, Bella."

I lick my lips and it catches his eye.

He hesitates and I lean forward, I can't even help it.

It's magnetism.

But he clears his throat and starts to back away, dazed and heading down my stoop.

I stay leaning against my front door long enough for the rain to pick up, drenching me.

He likes me, it's obvious, but he doesn't _want_ me.

Not like I want him.

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	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you all for the well wishes—luckily I'm on the tail-end of my antibiotic so hopefully bronchitis will be gone soon xo**

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As spring blooms, Edward and I take walks and he still won't kiss me.

We wander through parks and streets and near the water. Sometimes we listen to music, sometimes we talk about our days and the city and sometimes we don't talk at all, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

When we don't walk, we study. Well, I quiz him on his break from Starbucks while I sit on the counter at Ballard, his brow furrowed in concentration. He tears his hands through his hair when he can't think of an answer and he high fives me when he can. I never know what he's talking about, but I'm starting to catch onto little facts. I'm learning about stitches and incisions and I burn at the feel of his eyes on me as he thinks through the questions and answers.

And he still won't kiss me.

Sometimes he comes to the house to watch a game with Emmett and brings food with him. I think he worries about me not eating enough. He nudges wings and chips and popcorn towards me and I sit through baseball games even though I think they're boring just so I can be near him. Emmett makes fun of my crush when we're alone and I let him, because Edward still hasn't kissed me.

One Sunday in early May, he invites me to see a movie with him at his favorite theatre. It's _North by Northwest_. Edward's a huge Hitchcock fan and he talks through the whole goddamn film.

"Did you know that Jimmy Stewart wanted to play Thornhill?"

"That's a MacGuffin-oh, you don't know what that means? It's funny…"

"I love this part."

He laughs loudly, passing me the popcorn and leaving his arm flush against mine. I can't concentrate on the movie. Only him.

And sitting in the dark, he has the perfect opportunity, but he still...won't kiss me.

It's starting to drive me wild. I can barely think a coherent thought when I'm near him.

And even though he won't put his mouth anywhere near mine, he's starting to...do other things.

When we walk, he lets me pick all the music. He tucks my hair behind my ear when it gets too wild in the wind. His fingers brush against my cheek.

When we study, and he gives me a high five, his hand will linger, his eyes intense.

When he's hanging out with Emmett, his hands twitch towards my thigh, like he wants to touch me. I've started wearing shorts in case he does.

In this theatre, his breath tickles my ear, my neck, as he talks and talks and talks. I'm nearly shaking at his nearness, at the fantasy of his lips on my neck.

Before I can stop myself, my hand is on the exposed skin of his forearm, gripping him, the warmth of his skin contrasting with my cold hand.

He stills and his breath catches.

"Edward," I whisper. It's barely a sound, barely a breath against his neck. He's so close and when he turns his head, his mouth is right there.

My lips touch his tentatively and his eyes close. The softness of the kiss doesn't last because his hand grasps the back of my neck, pulling me closer and he grows urgent. I feel like I'm going to explode, all this pent-up tension finally finding release. I can't get close enough, I'm struggling with the armrest between us, and he's biting my lip, his other hand on my side, trailing across my ribs. I let out a whimper, the sound lost in his mouth, and I know I need air but I can't stop.

I won't stop.

This is finally fucking happening.

But then some old bitch behind us is clearing her throat and it's over, we break apart gasping and panting, leaning back in our chairs. I'm dizzy, burning, and wanting more.

Edward looks like he's just royally fucked up.

We sit in silence until the credits roll and then we're getting the hell out of there, into the light of early evening. His lips are red and his hair is pushed up on one side and I'm waiting for him to tell me that this was a huge mistake.

"I'm sorry," he says, and it sounds like he genuinely means it.

"Don't be," I tell him. It's a plea. If he bails on me now, I'll be post-Mike break-up all over again. Maybe worse.

"I can't...we can't…"

Pain, pain, pain.

Rejection is a fucking bitch.

"Oh," is all I can get out, wanting the ground to swallow me whole.

I'm definitely going to cry.

I need to get out of here.

He takes a step toward me, his hands gripping my arms gently.

"It's not that I don't want to," he says quickly. My heart weakly picks itself up out of its grave. "It's just, right now, I can't give you more than this."

"Why?" I hate the way my voice cracks. His eyes tell me that he does, too.

"Things are just really complicated right now. I'm about to start this residency and my parents are on me all the time and my ex, Tanya, is around a lot and still going through a rough time and I don't want to...flaunt this in front of her."

I don't know what to say. His ex is still around. I don't fit into his life that way.

What even is "this" to him?

What is it to _me_?

"I won't ask for you to wait for me or anything," he continues, nearly pleading. "But I like you, Bella. I like you a lot. I just can't do _this_ right now."

And as much as it fucking hurts me, I say, "I understand."

Because even though I can't have him the way I want him, I sure as hell don't want to lose him altogether.

And maybe, as fucked up as it is, I'd wait for him.

"Friends, then?" I ask and god, the relief on his face is too much for me to take. I don't know what's going on in his head, or even his life, and I want to be able to keep that stress away from whatever this version of _us_ is. I want to give him that.

And he said he likes me. A lot.

My heart starts to pound again.

"Thank you, Bella."

I smile weakly. I can do friends.

I've _been_ doing friends.

Except now, I'm going to have to pretend like I don't know what it's like to kiss him, what it's like to have his hands on me.

"Do you want to go get a drink?" he asks, uncertain again. I tug on his arm-in a non-romantic way, of course-and start to pull him down the street.

"I really fucking do."

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 **next chapter will probably be up in the next couple of days!**

 **(also, sorry for the little emo-arc, it's necessary but temporary)**


	16. Chapter 16

**Wow, so many of you are so mad at me (I'm so sorry!) Hopefully this chapter clears some stuff up?**

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"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Alice grumbles, sitting cross-legged on her bed. Jasper eyes her from his spot next to her, smoking a joint lazily.

I just got home from drinks with Edward. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. Things were weird at first, but the drinks helped and soon enough, things were nearly normal.

You know, as normal as they can be.

He asked what I thought of the movie and talked too much, too quickly about other Hitchcock movies he likes.

And then he took me home, lingering awkwardly in front of my fucking house and not kissing me.

I went straight upstairs and threw myself across the foot of Alice's bed, crying my way through the whole fucking thing.

"I disagree, Al," Jasper drawls. "Sounds like he's doing the right thing. Kind of."

She whips around on him, eyes narrowed.

"It's a bullshit excuse," Alice says severely. "He either wants to be with her or he doesn't. Sounds like he cares more about his ex than Bella."

Jasper shakes his head, chuckling and I think Alice's head is going to explode.

"He's being honest with her. He's telling her what he can offer her, not leading her on or anything." He turns to me. "I'm sorry it hurts, Bella, but life is fucking hard. For everyone. Has he told you the details about his whole thing with his ex?"

"No," I rasp, feeling like an asshole for bringing everyone in on this pity party.

Jasper nudges me with his foot, offering a smile.

"Ask him, Bella. Just talk to him. Get his side before you send Alice to light him on fire."

Alice sighs and tells me gently, "either way, you feel how you feel right now. It'll get better. But I _will_ light him on fire if you want me to."

I leave them be, dragging myself into my room and picking up my notebook. The last thing I'd written had said, _You make me feel happy, I don't know what I do that keeps you around._

Tonight, I flip the page, my pen trying to sort through these feelings for me.

 _I would've died for a kiss,_

 _I wanna kill myself, I'm gonna go to hell_

 _I'm gonna kill myself, I wanna go to hell_

 _And he's the way I'm gonna do it_.

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Two weeks later, Edward finishes his semester. He takes his last final and meets me at the shop, where Alice gives him the stink eye when he isn't looking.

We've hung out as a group a few times and it's not really awkward, Em and Jasper are normal but Alice is a little sharp. He either doesn't notice or ignores her and treats me like he usually does.

Minus the lingering touches.

I know why he's doing it, why he's keeping himself at a distance. It's easier that way-for both of us.

But I'd die for him to touch me. The memory of his hands on me won't leave my head. I'm floundering.

I've been avoiding him a little bit, making excuses for why I can't hang out or go to the movies. I want to, but I need to create some distance. Friends need space.

I've been writing a lot. Sad songs, mostly, but creatively, I'm on fire. Heartache is the best muse.

But today, Edward looks the happiest I've ever seen him. Almost boyish as he walks through Ballard.

I feel guilty because school must've been harder on him than I'd realized, and maybe I shouldn't have kept my distance.

"How'd it go?" I ask as my last lesson of the day is leaving.

"Who cares?" he sighs. "It's over. Let's celebrate."

"I'm still here for a few more hours," I tell him, but Jasper butts in from his post at the drumkit.

"It's dead here, just go. I doubt Shelly will care," he says, his eyes telling me that he means it. It's okay.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, have fun!" Translation: be careful, you lovesick dummy.

"Thanks, Jas."

It's so warm outside, the sun still shining in the early summer evening and I happily peel off my cardigan.

"So, what are we gonna do?" I ask, giddy to be off work before sunset with Edward Cullen.

"I'm going to buy us cheap, shitty champagne and we're going to grill out on my patio," he tells me excitedly. My heart hammers. I've never been to his place.

And when I see it, it's exactly what I'd imagined for him. An understated brick townhouse on a quiet street. I follow him up the stairs and wait as he unlocks the door, peeking around him as he swings it open.

The living room is a strange mix of tastes. The sleek, leather sofa and coffee colored bookcase look like things he'd own, but the colorful throw pillows and vintage pin-up girl posters on the walls do not.

"My cousin did most of the decorating," he explains, noticing my staring.

I follow him to the kitchen, simple and clean. He puts the champagne he bought on the way here in the fridge and swaps it for some beer. I pop the top and raise a toast to him, to him being done with school, and he knocks his can against mine, grinning.

"You like hot dogs, Bella?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm an American, aren't I?"

He laughs and pulls a pack out of the fridge, leading me through the back door to a small, brick patio. It doesn't have much of a view, mostly looking into the street beyond, but it's nice to sit outside. He's got a little grill off to the side, which he fires up, and gestures for me to take a seat on the hammock they've got set up.

It swallows me up, swinging me in the breeze as I sip my beer. Edward grills hotdogs and asks me about my day and tells me about all the review questions I'd quizzed him on that appeared on the exam.

He's so light, so happy and carefree. It's a totally new Edward. I'm more infatuated with him than I ever thought possible.

He disappears inside and comes back with his arms full of buns and mustard and two bottles of champagne.

"Need me to grab some glasses?" I ask, but he shakes his head.

"One for me, one for you," he says, nodding at the bottles. I can't stop laughing.

"Who _are_ you?" I tease as he pops the tops on bottles, his own laughter floating in the air around us.

He raises his bottle, "To finished semesters and good friends!"

"Cheers to that!"

We take our drinks and I let the champagne numb the word "friend" as it lingers in the air while we eat hot dogs and take swigs from the bottle.

It's a strange way of celebrating, and I wonder why I'm the one he wanted to do this with. Why not his ex? Why not his family?

Why me?

"So, you have any shows coming up?" he asks, settling in next to me on the hammock. He's so close. I hate the way my stomach flutters.

"Yeah, a few actually," I say. Jake asked me and Jasper to open for them again a for a few more shows. The first rep passed on them, but there are more coming in the next few weeks to various clubs around the city.

"That's so cool," he sighs. "Is it okay if I come to some? If I don't have to work?"

The petulant teen in me wants to say, "it's a free country, isn't it?"

But I tell him that of course he can.

He grins.

I melt.

Like a jackass.

I drink more champagne.

And more.

By the time the temperature drops with the sun and I'm shivering and Edward's telling me to come inside, my head is warm and fuzzy and my lips are loosening.

Not for kissing.

For talking. Asking.

I want to get to the bottom of all this.

His own bottle is nearly empty and he's reaching in the fridge for a beer.

"Can I see your room?" I ask abruptly, and he blinks a few times before he leads me upstairs, past one closed door to another.

It's small, most of the space being taken up by a queen bed in the corner covered by a gray quilt. The walls are empty except for a poster with the Seahawks schedule from last year and a calendar that is scribbled on with messy handwriting in various colors.

He's got a small desk that's a total mess, books open and papers strewn around.

The dresser near the door is the only thing with framed photos on it-which is what I'm really looking for.

I make a beeline for it while he starts shuffling papers around on his desk. There's a picture of him with a graduation cap on his head with who I'm assuming are his parents. His mom has caramel hair and eyes that match his, her lipstick perfectly applied and a simple pearl necklace around her neck. His father is slightly shorter than him, with gray hair and Edward's handsome face.

They look like a perfect, proud family.

I try to imagine my own parents on my high school graduation, my scowl and combat boots, my mom's frizzy hair and my dad's crooked tie.

I make myself move on, to another photo from the same graduation, of Edward in a group of friends all in their cap and gowns. There's a girl next to him, his arm around her. Strawberry blonde hair, bright blue eyes, blindingly white teeth.

"Is this your girlfriend?" I ask and soon, he's behind me, peering over my shoulder, his body flush with mine.

"Ex," he corrects. "But yeah, that's Tanya."

"She's pretty," I say and it's the understatement of the century. I feel him shrug.

Here we go.

"Why did you guys break up?"

He sighs and steps away, laying back on his bed. I hover awkwardly.

"I wasn't in love with her anymore."

"Oh. That's…oh."

I want him to keep going.

He does.

"We've been friends our whole lives because of our parents. We started dating freshman year of college. Her idea. And I finally realized we were better friends than anything. I love her but I'm not _in_ love with her, you know? I don't think I ever really was."

"How do you know?"

He props himself up on his elbows, his eyes intensely on mine.

"There were never any...sparks."

My heart hammers.

"And she's still around?"

And we're at the heart of it all now. I need more of explanation. I need him to tell me exactly why he won't give me more than this.

"We're friends, I've been trying to put space between us but with her dad dying, she's a mess. I just, I can't leave her hanging in her hour of need. I'm not going to get back with her or anything but it's just shitty circumstances."

It isn't surprising. He's just stuck in a situation that he's too _good_ to get himself out of.

"That's really decent of you," I tell him and I let myself lay on his bed next to him, leaving enough space between us so that we're not touching.

No more touching.

"I didn't mean to get you all tangled up in this," he says softly. "You came out of nowhere and I couldn't stay away."

"It's okay," I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I've never met anyone like you before," he continues. I feel his fingers against mine. He lets them rest there, barely touching. "You make me nervous."

"Me, too," I tell him.

I don't know how long we lay there or when I fell asleep, but the light on his desk is still on but it's dark outside. Edward is snoring softly next to me, his face completely relaxed, his hand still outstretched towards me.

My head hurts and my mouth is dry and I'm still wearing my shoes. I climb out of bed slowly, trying my best not to disturb him and I tiptoe out into the hall, pulling his door shut behind me. The lights are off downstairs save for the lamp next to the sofa. I'm looking for my bag by the door when I hear a voice behind me.

"Who the hell are you?"

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 **songs: 'I want u' by alex lahey**

' **death by chocolate' by soccer mommy**

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This little glimpse into Hot Barista's mind help at all? He's a complicated dummy.


	17. Chapter 17

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"Who the hell are you?"

I jump, I can't help it. Sitting on the sofa, packing a bowl, is a blonde woman.

Thank fuck it's not the ex. Tanya.

She's more golden blonde. Green eyes. A gold hoop through her septum. Toned arms and long legs dotted with random tattoos.

Blank expression on her striking face. High cheekbones, full lips.

She lights the bowl and waits for my answer.

"Um, Bella. Who are you?"

She exhales, smoke billowing around her.

"Oh, _you're_ Bella," she says flatly. "I'm Rose. Edward's cousin. What are you doing here?"

I hate that this is happening right now. I hate that this woman is looking at me with such disdain and talking to me like I've done something wrong.

I hate that I can't find my fucking purse.

"I was hanging out with Edward. We fell asleep."

"Of fucking course."

I stop what I'm doing because _what is with her_ tone? She's totally unaffected by the squaring of my shoulders as she takes another hit.

"Are you like, mad at me for being here or something?"

"I'm not mad at _you_ , Bella, I don't even know you. I'm mad at him."

"What the hell for?"

This cryptic, mean bitch has never met me. Who the hell does she think she is?

"Because of that bullshit he fed you."

I feel my stomach lurch slightly. What he said after I kissed him? She knows that? I play dumb.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do, Bella. Look, I love my cousin but sometimes he's a fucking idiot. Then again, you might be an idiot, too."

"Um, thanks?" I bristle, sarcasm and rage building up my confidence. I want to lay into her. This virtual stranger.

Like, what the _fuck?_

And why do I feel the need to _defend_ Edward?

"He's under a lot of stress right now," I say and she rolls her stupid eyes.

"His parents suck, med school sucks, and Tanya fucking _sucks the most._ He's being a pussy. Don't let him play games with you. You scare him, he's a little bitch."

 _You make me nervous._

"We're just friends, it doesn't even matter." I mutter, ignoring the warmth blooming in my chest at the thought of her not liking his ex.

"Yeah right, friends who sleep together."

"We really did just sleep!"

"That's fucking worse."

"I don't know you, you don't know me, you have no right to judge me. Stop being a bitch."

She laughs and shifts on the couch.

"Want a hit?" Rose asks holding out the bowl. I scowl at it. "I won't yell at you anymore."

I sit next to her and she watches while I light the bowl, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs.

"You're a musician, right?" Rose asks, her eyes red rimmed and voice hoarse.

"I guess, how'd you know?"

Laughing, low and with only a small tinge of humor, she says, "he never shuts up about you, you know."

I blush, and her laughter grows amused.

"Seriously, dude, don't let him jerk you around."

For a moment, it feels like she's on my side or something.

"Have you been here the whole time?" I ask for lack of anything else to say.

"Nah, just got home. Had a date."

"How'd it go?"

"Total skeeze. Tinder blows."

"Amen." I used Tinder for a total of two days after Mike and I broke up. Too many bad pick-up lines. Too many dudes asking me if I was a virgin.

We fall into silence. Rose smokes some more and I look at her tattoos. A dagger on her bicep. A vine on her thigh like a garter. A brightly colored sparrow near her elbow.

"I like your tattoos," I say aloud, and she glimpses at the vine, then up to me.

"Thanks, I'm about to start an apprenticeship at a shop in First Hill."

"That's so cool. I love tattoos, I'm just too poor to afford any," I tell her. "The only one I have is this shitty stick and poke my friend gave me."

I show her the crescent moon near my shoulder, the one Alice gave me with India ink and a sewing needle. Rose inspects it.

"I can touch that up for you. Plus, I'll need people to practice on so if you want some dirt-cheap tats, hit me up."

"That would be so fucking amazing," I breathe, starting to like her more and more.

I could see myself being friends with Rose.

I want to bury myself in Edward's life.

"You wanna watch TV?" she asks, reaching for the remote.

"I should probably head home," I say, standing up, wishing there was a cool way to sneak into the kitchen and stick my mouth under the faucet. The weed is making it so dry and ugh. I check my phone, it's only a little after midnight.

"Well, see you later," Rose says with a shrug and with the bright light of the TV, I finally see my bag, just sitting on the floor near the front window.

Of fucking course it is.

The air is cool but it's not raining and I want more than anything to walk home, but it's late and I'm small enough that I'd very easily get murdered.

I stop at a corner store on my way to the bus stop and buy a bottle of water, downing it before I even get on the bus. I don't go home right away, the night too nice to deny. I wear my headphones and listen to The Cure and scribble in my notebook while I try to make sense of my goddamn life.

I'm certain that Edward wants me—he does, but not enough to like, take me.

And I'm going to take Rose's words to heart.

I won't let him jerk me around. I won't wait for him, I won't play games.

I think about Mike and all the time I wasted on him and I can't do that again.

I _won't_ do that again.

I think of Rose and her shitty Tinder date, but I don't want to deal with that whole pile of bullshit. I've got those gigs with Jake coming up, maybe I'll ask him if he has any single friends.

The thought feels wrong, heavy in my mind, but looking at the lines I've written, I know I have to.

 _I'm not a prop for you to use_

 _When you're lonely or confused_

 _I want a love that lets me breathe_

 _I've been choking on your leash._

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 **song: 'your dog' by soccer mommy**

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 **Hopefully next chapter won't take as long to get out, thanks for reading!**


	18. Chapter 18

**I'm so glad you all like Rose, I have a lot of fun writing her.**

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When Shelly announces that she's going to visit her son in Florida for a long weekend, Alice drops an entire box of capos.

Shelly has never taken a vacation.

Ever.

"Just for a few days. And not until July," she explains to Alice, Jasper and I hesitantly. "When I'm gone, Bella, I'd like you to be in charge."

I'm taken aback, mostly because, is she _sure_?

"Just the stuff I usually do," she tells me when she sees me pale. "Only for a few days."

Shelly disappears to her office and Alice and I exchange a what- _Twilight-Zone-_ episode-are-we-in? look.

"She needs a damn vacation," Jasper says after a moment. "She's been wearing her knee brace more."

"She did go through last week's receipts twice and didn't realize it," Alice murmurs.

I don't want to think of Shelly getting older, of her showing her age. I clear my throat.

"I, um, should get ready for my two o'clock," I tell them, suddenly feeling like I'm going to cry.

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I tell Edward about Shelly when we meet out front of the shop for lunch, his eyes on me as he eats his sandwich. We haven't talked about falling asleep at his place, or really about anything about that night except that he hoped Rose was nice to me.

Laugh-out-fucking-loud.

I take a bite of a baby carrot and stare at my feet.

"Obviously I'm afraid of what the hell I'm going to do if she decides to quit and sell the shop, but like, I don't know, she's like my mom. But nicer to me."

"It's okay to worry about her, Bella," he says. "Shelly cares about you, she wouldn't just leave you hanging. Plus, putting you in charge seems like she's testing you."

"Testing me?"

He nods, smirking. "She's putting you in charge, seems like it's on purpose."

"What the fuck for?"

He shrugs. "Maybe she's thinking ahead."

"That's stupid," I mutter. He bumps my shoulder with his and smiles.

"It's not stupid at all. You're going to be great."

I push down my pleasure at his praise and try to ignore the earnestness in his voice and the softness of his eyes.

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Practicing new songs with Jasper is so fucking telling.

He knows my writing process.

He knows all these songs are about Edward.

He knows I'm confused as hell because half of them are about wanting him and half of them are about pushing him away.

Jasper hits the snare, stopping my voice from singing the next line.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asks, his greasy hair falling into his face and he leans forward, pushing his sleeves up past his elbows.

"Not even a little bit," I get out, positioning my fingers on the neck of my guitar to start the song over. "Can we just get this right?"

He counts us off.

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"Desperate much?" Jake teases when I ask him if he knows any single dudes who won't murder me. We're at the bar, waiting on our drinks and my face is burning red. There's still an hour until my set but I got here early for this exact reason.

"Shut up, forget about it," I sigh, reaching for my beer. Jake laughs and rolls his eyes.

"You ever meet Jimmy?"

I rack my brain; the name sounds vaguely familiar. Jake can see the wheels turning in my mind.

"He plays in the Hunts? Blonde dude?"

I can picture him, his angular face angry and screaming into a microphone. I like one of his songs, one about a girl with flaming red hair.

"Oh, yeah, I've met him a few times," I say. It was just in passing, our circles overlapping every so often.

"He's supposed to be here tonight, I'll re-introduce you," Jake says with a wink. "I thought you were with that one dude, though. The one who came with you to the house show?"

"No, we're just friends," I say to like, the millionth person for the fucking millionth time. Jake snorts as we walk towards the stage, this club is a little bigger than the ones I usually play, Jake's band is showing the label reps that they can play the larger shows and still have the same amount of energy from the crowd.

Jasper's on stage by the time we get there, fidgeting with his drums.

"Alice and Em coming later?" I call out to him. He nods.

"Yeah, they're gonna wait for Edward to get off work and all come together."

My stomach sinks and I mentally run through the setlist.

He's going to see right fucking through me.

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He's just come from Starbucks. It's his last week before he starts his residency and I'm going to miss his worn black jeans. His hair is messy and even though the lights focused on me are blinding, I'd see him no matter what. In the back, right by the sound booth, he's watching me with a beer in his hand and a megawatt grin on his face.

I nervously take a drink of my bottle of water. We've already played a few older songs, ones we know the crowd responds to, but it's time to get these new ones out there. I start playing the chords, the dreamy, mellow notes and my voice is almost too soft. I lean into the mic.

" _Do you think it's sweet I'm nervous talking to you?_

 _Or am I just a freak?_

 _Sat by me on the bus on the way back home,_

 _i wish that I was cool like you. "_

Edward is standing taller, almost startled as he listens, his eyes wide as he watches. Here we are, me pouring my heart out, him having to just...take it.

" _I guess it's kind of me - i never try,_

 _You took me home last week - I would've died for a kiss_

 _you smell like coffee and how chocolate tastes_

 _it makes me wanna die but I guess I can wait."_

I sing him the chorus, the one I'd written that day we kissed at the theatre. The day this all got so fucked up.

" _I wanna kill myself, I'm gonna go to hell_

 _I'm gonna kill myself, I wanna go to hell_

 _and he's the way I'm gonna do it."_

His eyes close and I see him swallow, like it hurts for him to be here, to be listening to me sing.

Oh, sweet Edward. It's about to get so much worse.

We go right into the next song; my voice is scratchy.

I'm too emotional.

 _I don't wanna be your fucking dog_

 _That you drag around_

 _A collar on my neck tied to a pole_

 _Leave me in the freezing cold…"_

His eyes open and he looks like he's been punched in the stomach.

" _Soft touches break my knees and_

 _leave me crawling back to you,_

 _I'm not a prop for you to use_

 _When you're lonely or confused_

 _I want a love that lets me breathe_

 _I've been choking on your leash."_

We go back to playing the older songs, the faster songs, trying to get the crowd hype for my friends. I can't look at Edward for the rest of our set, I refuse to acknowledge his expression, the one full of hurt, full of regret.

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I hide backstage until Jake's finished his set and he makes me come with him to the bar.

"Come on, Jimmy's here."

I'm such a coward. I can say whatever I want in a song in front of a crowd but face-to-face with the one person I feel absolutely myself with, I can't fucking do it.

He's talking to Emmett when I approach, but he's staring at me over his shoulder.

"Hey," I say and Em turns around, grinning huge.

"Those new songs are fucking tight, B," Em tells me, pulling me into a hug.

"They were definitely something," Edward says quietly. I can tell that he wants to talk to me-alone-but Jake's bringing Jimmy over and making a scene.

I look this new arrival up and down. Stocky, close-cropped blonde hair and a mustache that somehow works for him. Tribal tattoos all over his arms, his eyes icy-blue.

"Here she is," Jake says jovially, gesturing wildly toward me. Jimmy is far less flamboyant, smirking as he says, "hey. Good set."

"Thanks," I tell him. "Bella."

"Jimmy. You wanna get a drink?"

"Sure," I say, turning to tell Em he doesn't have to wait up.

But it's Edward who I look to, his lips mashed together.

"I'm gonna stay and hang out with Jimmy for a little bit."

Emmett looks skeptical, but tells me to let me know when I'm on my way home.

"Thanks for coming," I say to both of them, trying to smile.

Edward nods, his own smile coming out more like a grimace.

Our silent exchange.

His eyes are asking, _is this the way it's going to be?_

The way I back up towards Jimmy tells him that _yes, it definitely is._

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 **songs: 'death by chocolate' by soccer mommy**

' **your dog' by soccer mommy**

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 **thanks for reading xox**


	19. Chapter 19

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Jimmy is mostly nice. A little quiet, a little self-involved but not totally the worst guy I've ever hung out with.

He doesn't pay for my drinks, which is fine, I didn't expect him to.

I can't help but think that Edward would pay for my drinks.

He talks a lot about his band.

"We just recorded an EP and I'm sending it out to everyone."

"I really think that my songs are what people want right now."

"Yeah, I write all my own songs."

He brags as if he's the only dude on earth who can write a decent song.

I miss Edward.

He left with Emmett hours ago and his absence is choking me. I keep drinking.

Is this the beginnings of alcoholism?

I must spend most of my last paycheck on booze, because as the night goes on and I get tipsier, Jimmy gets better and better. He really is cute, and I don't think I'd mind kissing him.

Jimmy takes a sip of his drink and says, "so I have some new songs on a CD at home, you wanna check them out?"

Yeah, okay, he definitely wants to do more than that.

Maybe I want to give him what he wants.

Jimmy has a car, just an old, rusty Dodge and drives us to his apartment. It's actually close to mine, in the shitty part of Seattle, and smells like cigarettes and mildew as soon as I step inside. He's got blackout curtains on all the windows and a single futon in the center of the studio apartment, a massive sound system hooked up in the corner.

"You want anything to drink?" he asks, stepping in front of a mini fridge and stooping down to grab a beer.

"I'm good," I tell him, looking at the stereo. My head is already spinning.

He takes a big drink of his PBR and kneels next to me, picking a burned CD up off a pile and putting it in the player.

"This is the new stuff. Here, sit," he says, pulling me back to his futon, sitting so that his body is flush against mine. My heart pounds, not necessarily unpleasantly.

"I was listening to a lot of the Doors when I wrote this," he says quietly, his breath hot on my face.

No shit he was listening to the Doors. This track is a total rip-off of _Love Her Madly_.

I'm annoyed but when he kisses me, I let him. His mouth is warm and he tastes like hipster beer and whiskey, but he knows what he's doing. His lips are soft and his tongue fights against mine and I pull him closer.

When I feel his hand on my ribs, I can't help but remember Edward's hands being there before, and I hate that I miss it.

I miss him.

I kiss Jimmy with more urgency and he pulls me onto his lap. I feel him harden beneath me and I can't help but grind into him, enjoying this feeling for the first time in what feels like forever.

That feeling of being wanted.

And when his hands go under my shirt and fiddle with my bra, I let him unhook it and pull it off me, shivering at the feel of his cold hands on my breasts.

I could've made out with him for-fucking-ever, but then his fingers are working on the button of my jeans and I know that this is going to go further.

Do I want it to go further?

The track changes and it's another song that Jimmy probably claims is real and all his but it's just another knock-off.

I bat his hands away, but they keep coming back.

"Hey, maybe we should slow down," I breathe, and while his hands move back to under my shirt, he starts to push me down, laying me on the mattress.

And then his fucking hands are working my pants down again.

"Stop," I say, trying to wiggle away but he just covers my mouth with his and presses himself against my hips.

I'm suddenly feeling claustrophobic, wanting him off of me. I need to go outside. I need some fresh air.

"Jimmy, stop."

He doesn't and I try to wiggle free.

"I said _stop_!"

The volume of my voice alarms us both and he backs off. He has the nerve to look fucking annoyed.

"What the hell?" he balks, his mouth red from mine.

"I...I don't want to do that."

He laughs bitterly, "then why the fuck did you come back here with me?"

I can't tell him I'm basically using him to get over some other guy.

"I don't know," is all I can get out. I don't bother trying to fix my clothes or look for my discarded bra, I just push my way to the door, ignoring Jimmy's annoyed muttering as I step outside into the cold, night air.

I walk home, still a little drunk and still disheveled, trying to calm my breathing.

I don't like that I had to tell him no so many times.

I don't like that he didn't fucking listen.

I don't like that I was stupid enough to go home with him, knowing full-well what the hell was going to happen.

And of fucking course all of my roommates are sitting in the living room.

"What the hell happened to you?" Emmett asks, but I practically run up the stairs and lock myself in the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror, christ, I'm a fucking mess. My hair's all tangled, and my eyeliner is smudged under my eyes, though I'm not sure how much of that is from the show. My lips are swollen, and my face is red, my shirt is all stretched out and wrinkled and I feel _dirty_.

I run the shower as hot as it can go and I sit under the spray until I can't stand it any longer. Until this whole stupid night is gone from me.

I hide out in my room after, trying to work through a song and someone only knocks on my door once, though I yell at them to go away, I'm fine, just tired from a long night.

I'm scribbling in my notebook, words coming faster than tears ever could before I could fall asleep, fall in on myself, hating that all I wanted was to get over Edward and all I got was a head full of thoughts screaming at me that, " _Edward would never do this to you_."

 _I had to leave because I had to say no and stop,_

 _More than once-_

 _Way too many times,_

 _And you just kept trying to change my mind._

 _So, I left, it was two am_

 _And now I'll sleep in the middle of my bed_

 _With the comfort of my own choices._

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 **song: 'the face of god' by camp cope**

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 **Oooof.**


	20. Chapter 20

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On Edward's last day at Starbucks, he tells me that he wants to go out with everyone to celebrate before he's stuck in residency hell.

We don't talk about the night of my show. He doesn't ask about Jimmy.

I can see that he wants to, but he keeps his words to himself.

To him, I had a perfectly lovely evening with Jimmy that ended in me fucking him and thinking, _Edward who?_

That's what I hope he thinks, at least.

Because he asks, "are you going to bring that guy with you?"

I'm at Starbucks, getting my last ever coffee from him and he looks like he's anxious for my answer.

"Um, I don't know, maybe," I lie and his jaw clenches, but he nods.

"Cool, sounds cool."

He makes my drink and I move to the end of the counter, neither of us saying anything to the other.

He smiles weakly as he hands me my coffee.

"This is so weird," I say. "I can't believe you won't be across the street anymore."

"I'll be at Seattle Children's for like 11 hours a day instead," he sighs and I can't help but cringe.

"Tonight's gotta be epic then," I say, reaching across the counter and squeezing his hand. His eyes look like they want to close at the contact.

"I'll see you later," I say, releasing him, my hand tingling. I don't think I've touched him since that night at his house.

"See you later," he echoes, softly and disappearing behind me as I head outside.

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Alice is the only one I told about Jimmy, only because she asked about it the next morning as we opened the shop and she keeps telling me that I should tell Jake about it.

I tune some of the display guitars and she's pestering me about it, telling me that it's important so he doesn't try to set anyone else up with him.

"It wasn't that big of a deal," I tell her. "He didn't do anything wrong, really."

"Still shitty of him."

I shrug, though the mere thought of his hands on me again makes me want to take a scalding-hot shower.

"Boys are such assholes," she mutters, mostly to herself.

I feel like I'm overreacting, I've heard plenty of actual horror stories from other girls in the scene and what guys have done to them.

The worst thing is that it doesn't matter if they come forward and tell people or not-the guys are untouchable.

Women aren't supposed to be in this scene anyway (if you ask the shitty guys doing the shitty stuff to them).

I add more to the song I'm working on in my notebook, the one I started when I'd gotten home that night. It's just a song for myself, just to put my experience on paper, to make it really real.

Alice keeps talking from her perch on the counter.

"I should've just let Edward stay that night, I made him leave with Em. It was actually kind of cute, how worried he was."

I want to roll my eyes instead of having those stupid butterflies in my stomach making my cheeks burn, but I can't.

"Though I think he was mostly jealous," Alice continues, smirking at the way I whip around to face her.

"Jealous?"

She nods smugly. "Oh yeah, big time."

I turn away, hiding my own smile, the one I can't help.

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I manage to convince Alice and Jasper to walk with me to the bar near Edward's place, the one where we're supposed to meet him at 8:30.

Alice spends the whole walk bitching about how her boots are _not_ made for walking, but Jasper and I ignore her. The sun is out, it would be such a waste to _not_ walk.

Though I've stuck with a pair of torn-up, checkered Vans, I'm wearing a goddamn skirt. And one of my crazy old cut up tank tops from a Death Cab for Cutie concert.

I feel low-key but kind of sexy, my hair is big and messy and my eyeliner is even. I feel like I could kill a man with a single glance.

Rose is at the bar when we step inside, looking deep in conversation with the bartender. I don't know whether or not I should go say hi, but she makes my decision for me as she calls my name, the bartender gone and a glass of something dark in her hand.

"Hey," I say, nervous. She fucking grins at me.

"Good call with the other dude," she says. "Edward's been moping for days."

I flush and I want to ask her more about his moping but I have to introduce her to Alice and Jasper. Alice immediately asks her about her sandals and they're talking about their favorite shoe stores and I'm lost. Jasper's ordering drinks and Emmett isn't here yet, though he should be soon. I look around for Edward but I don't see him anywhere. I get another bartender's attention.

"Gin and tonic, please," I tell her, passing her a five-dollar bill. I feel someone come up behind me, their body close, nearly pressed against mine.

It's Edward, and he asks for a rum and coke, his mouth right next to my ear.

I'm frozen, trapped between him and the bar.

I don't want him to move.

I need him to move.

"Glad you came," he says softly and I smell the liquor on his breath.

"You get a head start?" I laugh as he steps away, letting me face him. He's still in his Starbucks uniform (minus the apron-I wonder if he got to keep it) and his eyes are a little unfocused, his smile too easy.

"Rose and I took shots when I got home," he drawls almost like he's proud of it.

"Oh yeah? Feelin' good?" I tease, unable to help it because fuck, he's so cute.

"Feeling great now," he says lightly.

He seems really happy.

In a perfect world, his arms would circle my waist and I'd kiss him slowly and deeply and we'd stay that way for as long as we wanted.

But we live in _this_ world, the one where Alice and Jasper are buying shots for everyone and Rose is watching us curiously as he steps away from me.

The whiskey burns on the way down and Emmett is coming through the door, looking so hurt over missing the group shot-taking, he buys everyone another. I introduce him to Rose and he's all flustered when she shakes his hand.

I go with him to find an open table and he's totally geeking out.

"What the fuck, why didn't you warn me my future wife was going to be here? I would've shaved."

I roll my eyes, "oh please, Rose is so cool and you're…"

I trail off, cringing, though I'm totally teasing him and he knows it.

"Shut up," he laughs, shoving me into the only empty table in this whole bar. The rest of the group circles around, Alice and Jasper leaning into each other while Emmett tries desperately to talk to Rose, who is impossible to read.

We play quarters and laugh too loudly and I feel at home at this sticky table, getting drunker and happier and forgetting all the shit that's been weighing me down the last few weeks.

Edward's thigh is pressed against mine and his elbow keeps brushing against mine. He leans into me whenever he speaks to me and when I feel his hand on my knee, just briefly, I have to get up and get some air.

Or else I'll like, spontaneously fucking combust.

Because I'm wearing a skirt.

Skin on fucking skin.

So, I excuse myself and make my way outside pacing on the sidewalk until I make myself sit on the curb, my head falling between my knees, not caring if the entire city can see my underwear.

And then of course Edward is plopping himself down right next to me, close enough that we're touching, completely defeating the purpose of me coming out here. But whatever.

We don't speak. I'm unable to form a coherent thought next to him and he keeps opening and closing his mouth like he wants to say something. I watch his fingers drum on his knees and his hair is messier than usual. He's been pulling his fingers through it a lot.

There's a loud burst of laughter behind us, just a couple of girls walking by, and it makes us both turn to see what's happening. As they pass, we turn back around, our eyes locking as we do. Edward stops drumming his fingers.

"Those songs you wrote," he begins, his voice a little hoarse. "Those were about me."

I don't bother lying, I just say, "yeah."

He winces, but keeps his eyes on me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you feel like that. I never want to make you feel like that."

I'm going to cry, I really think I am, because of the conviction in his voice, the regret beneath it.

I nod, it's the only thing I can manage, and I stare at my feet, unable to hold his stare.

"Are you seeing that guy?" he asks, and I turn back to him, eyes narrowed, ready to challenge him.

"So what if I am?" Not a lie, not a truth.

"I don't want you to," he says, rubbing his jaw.

I can't stop my laugh, humorless as it may be.

"Well, you don't really have a say."

I'm hurt and annoyed and feeling like a fucking doormat with all this shit and he has the nerve to say my name with so much feeling.

"Bella."

"What?" It's nearly a cry and fully desperate.

"I want a say."

And this is it, the moment of fucking truth. If he wants a say, he has to let me in, he has to give me more than he said he could.

So, I counter, "Prove it."

He's on me in an instant, his lips crashing to mine with desperation and I can't stop but let out a surprised cry, the sound disappearing into his open mouth. I tangle my hands in his hair for the first time and it's fucking heaven. Soft and making him groan. I pull away and he looks lost and hungry for more.

"I don't need you to be my boyfriend," I breathe. "I don't need you to take me on dates and introduce me to your parents. I just want _you_."

I've never seen him smile so hugely as he says, "I'll give you everything I have."

He kisses me softly this time, his lips pressing gently to mine with his hand holding my chin and I'm definitely going to cry, overwhelmed with _finally_.

"One thing though, Bella," he murmurs and I prepare for the inevitable _but…_

I hum nervously and he cracks another smile.

"I _do_ want to take you on a date."

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 **seriously thank you so much everyone for reading this, for reviewing and recommending it. I'm completely blown away with how much of a response this is getting. Also, huge thanks to LizziePaige for the incredible banner she made for this story!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Oof, it's been a long time. Im starting a new job (and tying up loose ends at my old one) and I'm also in the process of moving so everything is totally nuts right now.**

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Edward's first day of his residency coincides with our first date. He meets me at my place at 7, freshly showered and looking excited.

He's wearing a well-worn button-up shirt and his pair of black jeans from Starbucks, and he grins when he sees me.

I'm only wearing a simple red sundress with a pair of sandals, but Alice curled my hair and I borrowed some of her perfume.

I'm suddenly feeling nervous.

"You look beautiful," he says, and it makes me blush. "Ready to go?"

He takes my hand and I want to fucking explode with happiness as we start walking away from the house. From the sidewalk, I can hear whooping and whistling and when I turn around, Alice, Jasper, and Emmett are all at the living room window, grinning and being classically obnoxious.

"Oh my god," I groan, covering my face with my free hand. Edward just laughs and leads me towards the street, where a small, silver car is parked.

He pulls keys out of his pocket and the car chirps, unlocking.

I stop, letting go of his hand.

"What?" he asks, brow furrowed.

"Is this yours?"

"Yeah," he says slowly.

"And you continually let me drag you across town on the bus?"

He laughs at my pouting, saying, "I don't drive it too much. Tonight was just a special occasion."

His car smells like pine trees and his radio is softly playing some classic rock station and it's super clean—not a used napkin or empty coffee mug in sight.

As he drives, I watch the way he keeps his eyes on the road, darting between the rear-view mirror and whatever's in front of us. His hands are loose on the wheel, comfortable, and I try to remember the last time I drove. I got my license when I was seventeen, but I hated driving. I was too nervous and too distracted and since I never had a car of my own, it didn't really matter.

Edward smiles and glances at me, just briefly, and asks, "what?"

I shake my head.

"Just looking at you."

In the fading sunlight, he almost looks embarrassed.

We end up at an arcade bar, one that Edward says he always passed on his way to work but never went into. It's dim, with 80s pop music filling the room alongside the sounds of Pac-Man and pinball. He tells me to get whatever I want to drink and we wander the bar, looking at the games.

Twenty minutes later I'm learning that Dr. Hot Barista is also Dr. Sore Fucking Loser.

I'm crushing him in Mortal Kombat and he's making excuses about the buttons not working right and get more and more flustered by the punch and kick.

I laugh at him, not able to help it because he's always so cool and collected.

But give him some beer and a game he's bad at and he's ready to trash talk.

I tease him, "aren't doctors supposed to be good with their hands?"

His eyes darken.

"Trust me, I'm _very_ good with my hands."

My entire face turns red and he just...walks away, getting more to drink while I sputter behind him.

I want to tell him to prove it but I don't trust my voice.

I wonder if he's the kind of guy who would fuck in the bathroom.

Probably not.

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It's nearly eleven when he takes me home, idling in front of my house. He has to be at the hospital by seven tomorrow morning so I don't ask him inside.

"Tonight was a lot of fun," I tell him instead, leaning towards him, wanting to spend the next hour making out in his car.

He leans away, getting out and making his way to my door, opening it for me and holding out a hand. I take it, warm and soft in mine, and he leads me toward the door.

I swear we've been here before, lingering on my stoop, me begging him to kiss me.

This is the first time that he does what I want.

It's a soft kiss, so much different than the crushing desperation of the ones before it. He's gentle, his mouth moving slowly against mine, one of his hands at the base of my neck while the other rests on my hip.

I want to deepen it, to cling to him, but I know if I do I won't be able to let go.

When he pulls away, he's grinning and so am I.

Happiness buzzes between us.

"Goodnight, Bella."

I kiss his cheek in lieu of a goodnight, and watch him go back to his car, staying on the stoop until he drives away, his tail lights disappearing around the corner.

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 **Thx so much for reading, all my love xx**


	22. Chapter 22

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"It hurts!"

"I've barely even poked you yet."

Edward is laughing from his spot at the kitchen table, his eyes on the folder in front of him, while Rose grips my bicep, tattoo needle rubber-banded to a pencil.

She'd shown me one of her flash-sheets, one for stick-and-pokes, and I squealed in excitement when she offered one for free. I'd come over with takeout for Edward for when he got home from the hospital but he had to go over some stuff for tomorrow.

Which is the main reason why Rose is permanently etching a thorny wreath into my skin.

I try to ignore the constant pricking and mess around on YouTube on my phone. There are some really cool live sessions that get posted of bands I like, like this French company that films artists performing on the streets in Paris, or something simple like NPR's Tiny Desk Concerts.

"I want to do something like this," I mention to Rose as I click on one.

"What, perform in a too-small room to a bunch of hipster radio jocks?"

I roll my eyes.

"No, I don't want to perform, I want to facilitate it. But with like, a mix of newer and more established bands. I don't know. It could be cool."

Rose shrugs, "I guess," but I feel Edward watching me, when I look up, he's smiling.

I feel his silent approval, his support, and the warm feeling of being _wanted_ for _me_ covers me, fills me up, and makes my heart pound.

I try to remember Mike's thoughts on these kinds of things, his reaction to my plans to move to Seattle ("we'll be back in Forks before Christmas, be real"), his skepticism at my collaborating with Jasper ("a total waste of time") and the dismissive laugh he gave to all my far-fetched dreams.

I hate how long I spent letting someone treat me that way.

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I start spending a lot of my nights with Edward making out and then going home by eleven because he starts yawning and his eyes get droopy and I want nothing more than to stay curled around him, watching his eyes drift closed and his breathing even out.

We aren't at that level yet, I know, and we haven't gone farther than second base yet-which is frustrating because he's like, a really good kisser and I feel like my skin is the only thing keeping me from going every direction at once.

I know he wants to go further, I can feel the evidence of it pressing against me, but he's too proper, too polite.

I wonder what his date-count is for sex.

Isn't the average like, three?

I'm floundering, all keyed up at night when I get home, flushed and scribbling into notebooks about how badly I want him.

If nothing else, I'm writing some of my best songs.

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My weekly phone call with my parents happens when I'm walking with Edward to lunch, forcing him out into the warm summer sun and away from his desk.

"Fuck," I hiss to myself as my phone vibrates in my hand. "I have to take this."

Because if I don't, I'll never hear the end of it.

"- curtains are not the same as blinds, not-"

"Mom," I sigh, cutting her off. Edward slows his pace to match mine, glancing at me when he hears the wariness in my voice.

"Hi, baby," she says, changing gears, her voice going from annoyed to artificially sweetened in an instant. "How's your week going?"

"Fine," I say, underplaying it. Between Edward and the shop and the weather being so nice, I've been floating.

I don't even need to ask her about her own week because she's launching into a breathless story, my dad grumbling next to her. They're on their way to see some new horror movie and then have to go find new curtains for the living room because the current ones are _so_ outdated.

I hum in acknowledgement at the appropriate times, though I'm endlessly distracted by the man beside me, the way he tries to pretend that he's not eavesdropping on my side of the conversation, the way his hand seems to swing closer to mine with ever step. I roll my eyes are grab his hand, lacing our fingers together.

I swear to god he blushes.

It's enough to rush my mother off the phone, telling her, "yeah, I'm so sorry, someone else is calling me, gotta go."

I take a deep breath when she's gone, fighting the urge to close my eyes and face the sun until the warmth burns her out of my head. Edward squeezes my hand lightly and I can tell he wants to press, to ask why that short, relatively painless conversation brought the anxiety simmering in my throat, but he doesn't.

Boyfriends would ask, but more-than-friends-not-dating don't and for that, I am grateful.

We explore the city together instead, hands loosely clasped and swinging between us. We find a flea market and he gets distracted by VHS copies of old movies, telling me his favorites and griping about their placements on various "Best" lists.

I fall a little in love with him, watching the way his eyes shine, how his smile grows boyish when he looks through the stack in front of him.

"Why didn't you go into film?" I ask as he turns a massive boxed set of _Gone with the Wind_ over in his hands.

He's thoughtful, but quick to answer that, "I didn't want to turn it into _work_. It's nice to have something that's just for me."

I understand where he's coming from, my own hesitation in really putting myself out there, to promote myself to labels comes from that place.

I don't work on deadlines, I don't answer to anybody about my songs, and if there ever comes a time that I won't enjoy that anymore, there won't be any part of me left that's worth a damn.

I tuck myself against his side, feeling the way his breath rises and falls, the way his heart beats just a little bit faster.

The distance between us-those things that tell us that we should not work together, that it should not be this easy-grows smaller because I can look to him and say honestly, "I understand."

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	23. Chapter 23

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 **23.**

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I start walking by Seattle Children's when I get off work. Edward's workload is picking up so I'm starting to see him less and less. I expected it, but it doesn't make me miss him any less. It's a 45 minute bus ride from Ballard, but I spend the whole time writing.

And I'm not like, stalking him or jealous of some hot nurse or anything, I just like to see where he is, feel a little closer to him.

It's a nice building, surrounded by plants and not an obnoxious skyscraper. I try to remember what department he's doing his rotation in, but I can't-all the words sound the same to me. Oncology maybe?

I imagine him in his scrubs, smiling at kids, listening intently to the doctors, looking tired but happy where he is.

I walk and glow in contentedness at the proximity for just a few minutes, and then I go back to the bus stop and back to my life.

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Shelly is leaving the day after tomorrow for Florida and she's already cancelled the trip six times, so no one really reacts when she throws her hands up and says for the seventh time, "okay, that's it, I can't go."

All because the distributer we get our sheet music from completely screwed up our order, sending us 200 books of "Rock of Ages" instead of the fucking 200 books we ordered from their _new rock music_ section.

I think it's funny, to be completely honest, but Shelly is panicking.

"I'll just call them and tell them to fix it. We still have the order confirmation, right?" I say as calmly as I can. She huffs but nods.

It's an easy fix, one that takes less than ten minutes and gets us some free stuff to apologize for the inconvenience.

"See?" I say, hanging up the phone. "All better. Crisis averted. Go home, pack for the beach and chill out."

Shelly narrows her eyes, though she's fighting a smile.

"When did you get so bossy?"

I laugh, "since you needed to go to Florida. Stop being a nut."

She lets herself smile then and says, "thanks, Bella," as she squeezes my arm.

It still takes another hour to get her out the door and on her damn bus.

Alice watches on, amused, as Shelly runs through her checklist three times, though it's all stuff I already know to do.

I've been working here for years and she makes me feel like it's my first day all over again.

When she's gone, Alice changes the music. No more jazz.

"I feel like mom left us alone in the house for the weekend," she jokes, turning the volume up.

"Yeah but she left a babysitter, get back to work."

Alice and I dissolve into laughter.

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"So, for the bass to go along with that, I know you wrote it like…"

Jasper plays what I've written before adding, "but I think this might work better."

As he plays the new progression, I know he's right and I feel the excitement bubble in my chest.

Fuck, I love collaborating with talented people.

We've taken over the living room, Em is still up despite his having to work tomorrow, trying to think of a clever text to send to Rose. He's been bugging me about getting her phone number since he met her, but I wouldn't give it up-Rose and I hadn't discussed Em and I didn't want to meddle.

Edward, however, was perfectly happy to rattle off the phone number yesterday when he came by the house with takeout, still in his scrubs.

Now, Jasper looks over the scribbled lyrics I've been writing, smirking.

"Things with the good doctor must be going well."

I blush, trying to remember the words I'd given him to study.

This whole thing is surprisingly easy-the lack of commitment from either of us works, there are no promises or planned dates or anniversaries to remember, we just see each other when we can and when we do, it's effortless.

The uphill battle I expected in trying to keep up with him doesn't exist. He never talks down to me and always seems interested in whatever is going on at the shop or with upcoming gigs, and I like hearing him talk about the hospital, mostly because he looks so happy when he's doing it.

We're usually in bed, his head in my lap and my hands in his hair and he starts to drift to sleep while we talk, and someday I'll stop waking him up and just curl up next to him.

It feels like we could do this forever.

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Our first potential bump in the road comes the Friday night before my stint as acting manager at the shop. Rose is in the kitchen making nachos and Edward is lazily tracing the tattoo on my arm, the TV quietly playing some crime drama.

"So," he begins, still tracing, not looking at me.

"So," I repeat.

"Next Sunday, are you busy?"

"Nope," I tell him, watching the way he watches TV, trying to stay casual and mostly failing.

"My parents are celebrating their anniversary, their 30th, and are throwing a big party. I was wondering if you wanted to go with me."

I stare at him until he meets my eyes.

"I thought we weren't doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Dating. Doing official things. Meeting the parents seems official."

His ears turn pink.

"I'm not asking you to meet my parents, per say. They will just happen to be there."

And I can see that this isn't a big deal to him-that there isn't an implication in going to this in his eyes, but to me, this is a step.

Because these are his _parents_.

"I don't want you to feel obligated," he adds quickly. "It's just a fun party. There will be good food and good booze and probably a live band."

"Booze, you say?" I laugh and he smiles against my shoulder.

"The good kind," he says again and his mouth is smirking and kissing up my collarbone.

Rose comes back into the room, rolling her eyes at us and making a gagging sound.

"Bella's coming to the anniversary party with us," he tells her, ignoring the way her eyes widen.

She bursts into laughter.

"Oh my god, you are so fucked."

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 **eek, so sorry this took SO LONG. I'll be on vacation next week with no computer, so the next chapter may take a while if I don't get it done before then, but we'll see.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Hiiii I wrote this monster and could split it up but I don't want to so!**

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Managing Ballard Music is easy.

For the most part.

Nothing is really different from how it usually is, except if someone asks to see the manager, that means _me_.

Luckily, that doesn't happen.

Shelly calls constantly the first day, first on the bus to the airport, then at the airport, then at the airport in Florida and about three more times after that.

I keep assuring her that everything is fine, but she's, you know, insane.

The only major issue is the register jamming and making it impossible to open the cash drawer. It's a piece of garbage and I'm pretty sure we broke it trying to pry it open.

Alice is so relaxed when Shelly is gone, no one pestering her about her non-existent drug use and she lets me play whatever music I want with no complaints. I still give my usual lessons on Saturday, but since Sunday is usually my day off, I look over Shelly's checklist.

Things that took her three hours to do only takes me one, and it makes me nervous because how long can she really keep doing this?

How long until I have to find another job?

Or, _shudder_ , until I might have to look into _college_?

I push it out of my mind and I go on a coffee run. Stepping into the Starbucks across the street I decide that it will be my last visit. Two overly perky hipsters make my drinks and I miss my own Hot Barista something fierce. I text him a picture of my frowning face next to the coffee and I know he won't see it until he's off for the night.

During the slow hours in the day at the register, I daydream about running away with him to the east coast, living on a cold beach and making music and making love and I'll never pay my taxes or call my mom.

Because I'm working, I don't have to suffer through my weekly phone call with my parents and it's a goddamn vacation in itself.

Jasper and I close early and head home to rehearse some new stuff, kicking Em out of the living room and opening all the windows.

We fucking _jam_.

This new song is upbeat and fun and I can't stop smiling.

Of course it's about Edward.

He consumes my every thought, it's inconvenient but fuck, I'm _happy_.

 _You say I make you nervous, well, I feel it double,  
Why is it so easy? We both know we're in trouble,  
I'm not so good with in between, but how bad can it really be?_

Jasper screws up one of the notes and we laugh and I sing, _fuck work, you're here, everyday's the weekend_.

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When Rose found out that Edward invited me to the anniversary party, she didn't mean that I was fucked because I was getting pulled in deeper to this relationship (though let's face it-I am), but because their family is…

"Fucking nuts, Bella, they're in _sane_."

Edward had rolled his eyes but didn't contradict her.

When I'd called her later in the week asking for advice on what to wear she simply said, "it doesn't matter, they're going to eat you alive no matter what you're wearing."

Rose is not helpful.

So, as Doomsday looms closer, Alice and I go thrifting and I try to ignore the knot of anxiety growing in my chest.

"They're rich people, not the king and queen of England," Alice assures me. "We'll do your hair and find a nice dress and pull a full-on Eliza Doolittle.

"I don't know what that means," I mumble, frowning at a black dress that was all the wrong-kinds of retro.

" _My Fair Lady_?" Alice prompts, though I don't get why. I shrug. "It's a musical, Bella."

"Hopefully _that_ doesn't come up at the party, then."

It takes the better part of three hours but we find a dress that Alice deems acceptable. Chambray with buttons and a tie-waist. It's a little big and too long, but Alice tells me that she can fix it. We find a pair of wedges-not too high and not too worn-that go well with it and when Sunday rolls around, I become Alice's Beauty-School-Guinea-Pig.

She wakes me up _so_ early because Edward and Rose are picking me up at noon and this is apparently going to be a process. I drink coffee as she paints my nails-pale pink, "nothing flashy, just to clean you up" and blows my hair dry. She puts it into hot rollers and my scalp hurts by the time she's got them all set. She plucks my eyebrows and spends what feels like an hour perfecting winged eyeliner.

When 12 hits, I don't recognize myself in the mirror. Alice brushed the curls out, leaving loose waves and my makeup is subtle, but classy. My cheeks are flushed a pink that matches the lipstick she put on me and she even let me borrow a strand of her pearls (fake costume jewelry from a high school play). The dress fits perfectly and I can walk in the shoes and when Rose appears in the doorway, she actually looks kind of impressed.

Like he's sensing her presence, Em comes out of the kitchen (shirtless and smirking) to say hello.

To her credit, Rose rolls her eyes.

I ride in the backseat of Edward's little, silver car and try my best not to wrinkle my dress. He tells me I look beautiful and I blush and Rose turns the radio on loud.

We head north, out of my neighborhood and towards some swankier places. We pass some houses where I've given music lessons and as we head towards the University, I feel bad because they went super out of their way to pick me up.

Rose says, "whatever delays us getting to this shit show is worth it."

My dress starts to feel itchy as we're getting into Laurelhurst.

Old money.

Huge houses.

I gulp like a cartoon character.

It feels like the area gets nicer and nicer the further we go. We're getting close to Lake Washington; I can see the blue waters in the distance between trees.

I want to bolt as soon as Edward slows to a stop at the end of a long driveway.

"No fucking way," I breathe, my palms suddenly slick with sweat.

"Awful, isn't it?" Rose says, climbing out of the car. Edward follows, opening the back door for me.

"It looks worse than it is," he says as Rose snorts.

It's the biggest house I've ever fucking seen.

It looks like a cottage that swallowed a mansion, the roof and use of wood makes it look like something straight out of a fairy tale, with a gated drive and perfectly manicured garden. The front door is at least ten feet tall and our footsteps echo inside on the marble floor.

If the outside looks like a cottage, the inside is absolutely palatial.

Columns, a grand staircase and huge, surely expensive paintings on the walls.

The one that catches my eye though is a portrait.

A fucking oil painting portrait of young Edward and his parents.

"Who are you, the fucking Medicis?" I hiss out in a whisper.

"I hate that painting. It's obnoxious," he says and he puts his hand on my back, following Rose out a back door.

Of course they have a completely spectacular view of Lake Washington, because the yard ends where it begins, a big-ass boat docked and shining in the sun. I can see the party below us, in the lawn, set up in tents with waiters circling with trays of hors d'oeuvres.

The expansive lawn is cut in perfectly uniform lines and the hedges are trimmed with not a branch out of place. I can see party guests drinking and laughing below, their freshly pressed linen suits bright in the sun.

We head down the massive stone staircase and I want to clutch Edward's hand and not let go. Thankfully, his hand remains firmly on my lower back, keeping me close to his side. A few people say hello to him, but mostly we make it to the bar (an actual _bar_ set up under a tent) and I get a vodka soda. No colored liquids to spill all over myself but strong enough to loosen my nerves.

"This is insane," I tell him quietly. "What do your parents do?"

He takes a sip of his bourbon before he tells me, "my dad's a neurosurgeon. My mom doesn't really work, but she's really involved in the community."

Translation: socialite.

I think of my own parents, small town cop and an office assistant at the local elementary school.

I feel small.

"Let's go down by the water," he offers, changing the subject and pulling me along.

We don't make it to the water.

We barely make it out of the goddamn tent.

Because Dr. and Mrs. Cullen break away from whoever they are talking to and wave their son over.

I recognize them from the portrait, which I know see doesn't do them justice. Edward is like an exact mix of both of them, from the color of his eyes to the cut of his jaw. His mom smiles, her mauve lipstick perfectly applied and stretched over perfectly white teeth, her pearl bracelet sliding down her thin arm as she waves.

Edward's hand leaves my back as she pulls him into a hug, air kissing both of his cheeks. When she lets him go, his dad claps him on the shoulder and says that it's good to see him.

They don't even notice me until Edward introduces me.

"This is Bella," he says, stepping back to my side. I can see them trying to work out our relationship as they turn to me. Mrs. Cullen looks me up and down, her eyes zeroing in on my pearls (fake), my dress (secondhand), my status (non-existent).

"It's nice to meet you," I say, willing my voice not to shake. Dr. Cullen shakes my hand firmly but Mrs. Cullen just stares.

"You have a lovely home, it's really incredible," I tell them, desperate to fill the silence.

"Thank you," Mrs. Cullen forces out, her voice sweet-much like my own mother when she's being fake. I see Rose over her shoulder, down by the water and staring at us as she downs a drink.

"How do you two know each other?" she asks, sipping her glass of white wine, challenging.

Edward spares me and explains, "Bella works at a music store by that Starbucks in Ballard."

"Ah, the _Starbucks_." Her voice drips with distaste. "I still don't know why you bothered with that _place_."

"He made a mean cup of coffee," I tell her when I feel Edward reach for my hand.

"Oh, good, all the money spent on private schools and top colleges so you could make 'a mean cup of coffee.'"

He sighs next to me and his dad just says, "Es…"

"It was only a few months," Edward murmurs and this time, I grab his hand and squeeze his fingers, which catches the eyes of both of his parents.

Mistake.

"Speaking of," his mom begins. "Bella, where did _you_ go to college?"

My face reddens and I tell her, "Um, I didn't. Go to college, that is."

"Bella's a really talented musician," Edward explains and god bless him, he's bragging.

Mrs. Cullen does not look impressed.

"What do you play?" Dr. Cullen asks, earning a narrowed glance from his wife.

"Oh, um, a little bit of-"

I'm cut off by excited waving and a genuine smile from Mrs. Cullen as she spots someone behind me. When Edward and I turn to see who it is, I'm immediately filled with dread.

I recognize her from the photo in his room.

Tanya's even prettier in person, her eyes bright and her lipstick going with her complexion perfectly. Her hair is up and shows off the delicate curve of her neck, where a no-doubt real string of pearls rests.

She's taller than me, much taller, and her skin is somehow tanned and milky pale all at the same fucking time.

"Esme, Carlisle, it's been so long!" Tanya says joyfully, hugging them both, her voice affected by what sounds like a faint, fake British inflection.

I stare at her.

What the fuck.

Esme looks fucking _thrilled_ to see her, no doubt this is the girl she wanted for her son. Still wants for her son.

I can see it in the way her smile slips from genuine to fake in an instant when she turns back to me.

"Hi, Tanya," Edward says a little warily, giving a little wave. Of course, she pulls him into her arms, squeezing him tightly.

"Oh, hello, Edward!"

I fight the urge to roll my eyes so hard. I look for Rose down by the water but she's gone.

Tanya finally fucking notices me and her blue eyes narrow for just a moment before she's all smiles and sunshine.

"Hi, I'm Bella," I say, reaching to shake her hand. She takes it with enthusiasm while she watches Edward watch us.

"Bella is a _musician_ ," Esme tells her, like she's letting her in on the joke. Tanya smiles.

"Oh, that's so cool! Where were you trained? What do you play? I loved the violin in high school, my instructor was in the Seattle Symphony."

It takes everything in me not to laugh or cry or both at the sheer, _what-the-fuck_ of this situation.

I can tell Edward is about to step in, to redirect, but I'm already talking.

"I play a little bit of everything actually. Self-taught, guitar is my favorite. Violin is okay, a little too stiff for my taste."

I feel Edward's eyes on me.

Esme ignores me, but makes a point to ask Tanya, "has your residency started yet?"

"Oh, yes, just for a few weeks now. It's so challenging but…"

I tune her out and take a big sip of my drink. All attention is on Tanya, even Edward's, who is asking her about her rotation schedule.

I am promptly forgotten about and ignored.

Rose appears beside me, holding a plate of mini crab cakes and a bottle of wine.

"C'mon, Bella," she says and starts nudging me away, towards the house.

"Hello, Rosalie!" Tanya calls to our retreating forms.

"Fuck off, Tanya!" Rose yells back and I can't stop my laughter as we hear Esme start to grumble in offense.

We sit on the massive stone patio at the top of the stairs, on a bench overlooking the party below. We stuff crab cakes into our mouths and share the wine while Rose points out people she hates.

And Rose hates everyone.

"So, how bad was it?" she asks, leaning back and crossing her legs at the ankle.

"I don't really have anything to compare it to," I say, but I run through the entire conversation for her anyway.

She laughs when I repeat my comment about the violin.

"God, she's so fucking annoying. You could mention you like spaghetti and she'll go on and on about her various trips to Italy."

"She seems really smart and sophisticated," I say, trying to find Edward. I spot him by the water, talking to a group of older men, Tanya hovering nearby.

Rose rolls her eyes. "She's not. She's full of shit, and thinks she's better than everyone because her daddy was rich. And Aunt Esme and Uncle Carlisle love her status-love that she went through all the same socialite-in-training bullshit that Edward did."

"They must've been bummed when they broke up."

"Oh my god, Aunt Esme lost her _shit_ about it. First, he started working at Starbucks and then he dumped the Good Queen Bullshit. When he told her he was moving in with me, I thought she was going to have a stroke."

"Huh," is all I can say. I watch Edward make his way through the crowd, looking for someone and responding to whatever Tanya is saying periodically. Rose keeps talking.

"I think he just wants to feel normal. He doesn't really give a shit about all this stuff, just wants to chill."

"Be more," I say quietly to myself, recalling the conversation I'd had with him on my couch, watching movies.

It seems that Edward has found what he's been looking for, because he stops, his head tilted towards the house.

Towards me.

He says something to Tanya, who watches him as he dodges groups of linen suits and makes his way up the stairs, out of breath when he reaches me.

"Gonna go get more of this," Rose says, waving the nearly empty bottle and disappearing inside the house. Edward takes her spot on the bench and groans.

"Thank you for coming," he says. "I know this...sucks."

"Yeah, why are we here? Why did you bring me? I don't exactly fit in."

He sighs, turning to me, his eyes tired.

"I learned a long time ago that it's easier to just do what they want. And I _wanted_ to bring you. I miss you, you know? I didn't want to waste a rare day off not seeing you."

Pleasure blooms in my chest, warm from his words.

I want to kiss him, but not in front of all these people.

"Give me a tour of this castle?"

I offer him my hand and he takes it, leading me inside.

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Each room in the Cullen home is bigger than all the rooms in my house combined.

I follow him through wine cellars and bathrooms with Jacuzzi tubs and grand hallways with plush carpet.

He explains that his mom loves art (or rather, the status that art alludes to) and always buys at least one original piece when she goes abroad. They even have an original Picasso drawing hanging in a guest room.

They have a media room with the biggest television I've ever seen and a game room with a solid oak pool table and a fully stocked wet bar.

The bedrooms have four poster beds and lush comforters that feel like silk. Edward mentions that they're very old-have been in the family since they came over from England.

The Cullens were old time Victorian rich in England and came to America to get even richer, getting the bulk of their money in the stock market or oil or something cliché like that.

My favorite room, however, is at the back of the house-the room that Edward explains, "used to be my bedroom."

The large windows have an uninterrupted view of the lake and the only furniture is a large grand piano in the center of the room.

I run my fingers over the smooth finish, and down to the keys, pressing softly on a few of them.

"This is beautiful," I tell him.

"You play?" he asks. I nod, though I don't play much. I only had access to the shitty keyboards in school growing up and then the secondhand piano in the shop that never sells. I play a little part of a sad song I wrote when Mike and I first broke up and Edward sinks onto the bench next to me, his fingers joining mine on the keys, making up notes to match.

I freeze and turn to him-my heart thudding painfully in my chest.

Dr. Hot Barista plays the piano.

I fucking _knew_ it.

I watch him transition into something else, something classical, mesmerized by the way his fingers reach the keys.

Before he even finishes the song, I'm climbing into his lap, his palms on my ass to steady me as I kiss him harder than I ever have before.

My hands go to his hair and my legs wrap around his waist. I groan when I realize that I'm wearing a dress and there's less between us than usual. I roll my hips into him and he grips me harder, moving me harder and faster as he hardens beneath me.

He stands up, still holding onto me before he sets me down on top of the piano, laying me back as his mouth leaves mine, instead trailing down my neck and collarbone and to the neckline of my dress.

He starts to unbutton it and I feel like I'm going to combust, desperate for pressure, but he's too far away and too focused on getting access to where he wants. His fingers scrap across my nipple through the fabric of my bra and I let out a whimper. He smirks and tugs the fabric away. The same time that his mouth is on me, taking my nipple into his mouth, his fingers are pushing aside my underwear. He feels how wet I am for him and groans as he lets one slow finger trace around my clit before dipping inside me.

I arc to him, teased and desperate for more and reaching for the buttons on his own shirt, struggling to undo them as he adds another finger.

I give up on the shirt halfway through, my breathing ragged as I grab ahold of one of his belt loops instead, tugging him to me, watching him strain against his pants.

The pants are much easier to undo and slip to the floor easily. He shudders when he feels my hand against him, gripping him through his boxers and I'm gasping out, _please_.

He isn't gentle when he pushes into me, no, he's hard and warm and desperate, the pressure building as his fingers press hard into my thighs, holding me still on the piano as he thrusts, his hair falling into his eyes and his lips parted and saying my name.

I'm already nearing the edge when I feel him grip my harder, his breathing quickens, his own orgasm nearing. I writhe beneath him, unable to keep quiet and feeling my whole body buzz and nerve endings explode around him, my knees pressing together when he pulls out, keeping the pressure going. He comes fast and hot on my stomach in bursts, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips pressed together, holding in whatever sound wants to escape.

He lowers himself over me, his elbows resting on either side of me, his head resting on my chest, both of us sweaty and trying to catch our breath. He looks up at me, red cheeked and smiling.

"I'm really glad you came."

And I know he means the party, but I crack up anyway, his own laughter filling the air with mine.

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 **song: 'everyday's the weekend' by alex lahey**

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 **Well, damn.**


	25. Chapter 25

**Woof, finally back. It's been a long few weeks, thanks for stickin with this.**

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My dresser is starting to gather bits of Edward's life on it, from the addition of his highlighters and favorite pens to my own pen cup, to the travel toothbrush he keeps next to it. A couple of his t-shirts are neatly folded in the top drawer and a spare phone charger is plugged in next to it. I get a thrill every time I look at the space he's starting to carve out for himself in my room, almost as much as I do when I see him snoring softly next to me, his bare back rising and falling with each breath.

His alarm usually wakes him up before the sun's even up, though he doesn't get up as early when we're at his place. Sometimes I pretend to keep sleeping just to feel him smooth my hair back from over my face before he climbs out of bed, ready to start his day.

I rarely sleep alone anymore, either meeting him at his place or him coming to me when we're both off work or done with separate plans. It's nice to have someone else next to me, to be warm with someone in the middle of the night.

I'm writing him songs that he'll probably hear soon because Jasper and I have a few shows coming up-the biggest one being a local showcase at some festival by Udub for the Fourth of July and Edward has the day off.

His excitement rivals my nerves.

Especially because he's made it known to me that he usually sees his parents on holidays-the Fourth included.

"I'm sure they would enjoy the festival," he muses mostly to himself as I'm sitting across from him on my bed, strumming my guitar. I can't help my derisive snort. "What? They like going out and doing things!"

"Yeah, at the country club," I mutter and he shoves me gently.

The day of the party, after our time on the piano, Rose could see the post coital glow from a mile away.

Of course she teased me mercilessly.

"Can you imagine the shit fit Aunt Esme would have if she knew you defiled her baby boy in _her_ house?"

"The piano? What are you, _Pretty Woman_? Oh my god."

"You need to brush your hair."

The rest of the day passed without incident, though. Edward kept me close to his side as he mingled with all the people he was supposed to. Some of them weren't that bad and seemed genuinely happy to see him and made sure to include me in the conversation. More often than not, though, I was ignored.

Which was fucking fine by me.

I watch him now, asleep in my bed with the mismatched sheets, the street lamps on and casting a dull glow on him through the dirty window and try to imagine him living in that world, back at that massive house, and I can't.

I kiss the bare skin of his shoulder and lay beside him, thinking that while maybe he doesn't necessarily belong here, he doesn't belong there either.

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Shelly looks over my work from the weekend she was gone at least four times, making sure that all the numbers match, double checking inventory and receipts for what seems like days.

I'd be offended, but I'm used to her by now.

She's waiting for me after one of my lessons, asking if I have a few minutes. We step into her office and she closes the door-I brace myself for a lecture-maybe she _did_ find an error in all my work.

"I just wanted to begin by saying thank you," she says. "I know I'm not easy to work with and you're still here-and you did a great job with the place while I was gone."

I shrug, "I love this place."

"Me, too," she sighs, smiling. "My husband and I bought this store in 1978, did you know that?"

I nod, because she's told me this story a million times.

"When he died, I almost sold it to some developers."

This I did not know. My eyes widen in surprise.

"I just couldn't do it, you know? And I'm glad I didn't. This place is my home."

"Mine too," I say softly and she grins.

"I know it is, dear. Which is why I have something I want to discuss with you. I've been thinking about moving down to Florida, to be closer to my son-to my grandkids. I feel like I'm missing it all being way out here."

My stomach clenches and I can feel the sweat start to coat my palms.

This is the moment I've been waiting for-and fucking _dreading_ -for the last few years. Shelly must see my panic because she reaches out for my hand. I give it to her, sweat and all.

"I don't want to sell it. I want to keep this place going, I want it to be here and be a home for you and anyone else who needs some music in their lives."

"What are you going to do?"

"I want you to take over, to manage the place and eventually own it-I know you'll take care of it."

"Shelly, that's, I don't know what to say," I choke out, tears already burning in my eyes. I feel dizzy, my heart is pounding.

"I want you to do something, though. I have some money saved up and I want you to take some classes. Just some business courses so you know what you're doing."

I sit in stunned silence, my brain not able to focus on a single word or emotion, my mouth opening and closing like an idiot.

"You don't have to decide right away," she tells me slowly. "Just something to consider."

And it's stupid because obviously, I want to say yes. More than anything, but taking classes? Being in charge? Being the only thing between this place existing and...not?

Those feelings of inadequacy climb up my throat, like bile as I sit in Shelly's office, watching her go back to the front, leaving me alone.

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	26. Chapter 26

**oh my god i dont know why this took FOREVER to get out, endlessly sorry.**

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I don't tell anyone about my meeting with Shelly. I avoid Alice and Jasper at work and decline their invitation to dinner when we're off.

I walk instead, while the sun is still up and the clouds are few and far between. I walk through side streets and alleys and parks, my head down and heavy from so much to consider.

I want to talk to Edward but he's working late and he's so busy with everything I don't want to burden him with this stupid thing.

So, I walk until I hit Shilshole Bay in Golden Gardens Park and snag a bench.

This is my dream-I would get to work at Ballard forever.

But I am so, so convinced that I'm going to screw it up, that I'm not going to understand anything in class and that I'm going to disappoint everyone around me.

I can practically hear Emmett's pep talk, my mom squealing in delight at the thought of me going to school, but I don't want to talk to anyone yet. I worry that they won't be honest with me, that everyone is so sick of me dicking around that they'll get behind any change of pace in a positive direction.

Why does _trying_ feel like the most impossible thing in the world?

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The days leading up to the festival, Edward and I rarely cross paths and when we do, it feels strange. We feel strange I'm being weird because there's this huge fucking life decision hanging over my head, but he doesn't say what's bothering him. He looks more exhausted than usual, slower to smile, always lost in thought.

I want to ask him about it but I don't know how. I ask if he's okay, but he just says, "yeah, fine, just tired."

I know it doesn't have anything to do with me-he kisses me the same, wholeheartedly and filled with relief.

But it's those in-between moments that get to me.

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We don't spend the night with each other on July 3rd-he stays at his parents' mansion so that he can bring them to the festival. Jasper and I spend the entire night rehearsing, touching up our technique on old songs and perfecting a few new ones. Because it's a holiday, Ballard is closed and Emmett doesn't have to work-everyone is going to be there. Rose even mentioned coming, though she plans on staying far from her extended family. I think she just wants to tease Em.

We don't go on until nearly 5, which is a good time slot. The main stage is near all the food trucks and hopefully people will want to sit in the grass and eat pizza while we play.

Or, you know, we'll humiliate ourselves.

We go a little early, finding Jake and Leah in the designated parking lot and lock our gear in their van. They're the second to last act and will have the bulk of the crowd-everyone preparing to watch the fireworks from the grassy field.

"This is cute," Leah says, tugging at my crop top. Alice and I tye-dyed a bunch of shit red, white and blue after work one night last week. Mine is just kind of plumes of color on a white t-shirt she cut up, while her sun dress is filled with various sized swirls.

It's hot, so I'm thankful for this outfit choice, my hair pulled back in a high ponytail and feet tucked into a worn pair of Chucks.

Mrs. Cullen is going to have a field day when she sees me.

I check my phone-Edward was supposed to text me when they were on their way but I haven't heard from him yet.

Jasper and I walk with the other band into the festival, eyes peeled for everyone else, though I'm mostly looking for a mess of auburn hair. It's only been like, two days since I've seen him but I _miss_ him.

Like, a lot.

Too much.

I'm definitely getting a sunburn and by the time we find Em and Alice, she's frowning and poking at my shoulder.

"I told you to wear sunscreen."

"I forgot," I say, and it's not necessarily a lie. I just didn't commit to remembering it as much as I should.

"There she is," Emmett booms, grinning at someone behind me. Rose. Of course.

She's alone, looking fabulous and annoyed at the heat, her eyes behind some bright red Ray Bans and lips pursed into a thin line.

"Are they not here yet?" she asks me, swiveling her head around while Em tries to stand next to her.

"I guess not," I sigh, checking my phone yet again.

"I'm sure he'll get here soon," she assures me, squeezing my hand.

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I don't see him until I'm onstage, already halfway through the first song. I'm singing for Em, the one I wrote him for Christmas and I see him appear near my friends. I can't see his expression from this distance, but his hair is standing up at all angles.

Stressed, then.

His dad is with him, looking around as I'm singing _"I love you like a brother, just like I oughta_ " and I wish I'd stolen Rose's sunglasses to hide my eyes. Mrs. Cullen is nowhere in my line of sight.

Edward gives me a small wave and I don't bother fighting my smile. I'm just glad he's here-so glad that I fucking introduce the next song-which I never do.

"This is a new one," I say, hating the sound of my voice projecting across the grounds. "I wrote it for someone, um, important to me."

I go right in with my guitar, switching quickly through minor chords, my voice is a little rough through the first few lines, nervous to sing him this song, but I move past it, responding to Jasper's drumming and the way the crowd reacts.

" _I think about you all the time,_

 _but we say it's just pretend."_

I remember the uncertainty I felt-still feel-about him, about this. But seeing him out in that crowd, it lessens.

" _You say I make you nervous, well, I feel it double_

 _Why is it so easy? We both know we're in trouble_

 _I'm not so good with in between, but how bad can it really be?_

 _So what, you're here, every day's the weekend_

 _Don't know, don't care, every day's the weekend."_

As we go into the chorus, I try to see his expression-try to read his reaction, but I can't and we're diving into the chorus, Jasper ready to chime in on the _oh-oh-oh_ 's and crushing it on that drum kit.

" _My hands are cold but my feet are not,_

 _Are you leaving me or have you just forgot?_

 _Because in the end, we were never friends but more-_

 _(Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh)_

 _You've got things like a family,_

 _They're a bigger deal than I'll ever be,_

 _I know that's okay, we should ride this wave to shore,_

 _(Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh)."_

I'm flying so high when we finish the song-it's a great fucking song. I'm proud of it-proud of myself for creating an honest testament to _us_.

I look for him again in the crowd, and when I spot him, his mom is there, arms crossed but chatting to the girl next to her.

You know, the one leaning against my non-boyfriend.

Fucking Tanya.

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 **songs: 'love you like a brother' by alex lahey**

' **everyday's the weekend' by alex lahey**

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	27. Chapter 27

**I want to thank everyone for reviewing and for reading—however, just a PSA:**

 **If you don't like this story, you do not have to read it. Instead of maybe wishing torture and death on me and my entire family MULTIPLE times, maybe just close out of the window and move on with your life yeah?**

 **Anyway.**

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I don't know how I finish the set. My feelings are hurt and I'm mad as all hell. I just expressed in front of all my friends, in front of all these strangers-in front of _him_ how much he means to me and his ex is here.

What the fuck.

I know he didn't invite her. I _hope_ he didn't invite her.

It's his parents, no doubt, but like, come _on_.

Jasper is watching me expectantly. We're supposed to be done-we're finished-but I can't move from my spot. There's already half a song writing itself in my head, staring at the way his mother smirks, the way Tanya reaches for him no matter how many times he shrugs away.

I start strumming, my fingers finding chords that I've never formally put together, words slowly drifting from my throat to the microphone.

" _Go, get it all-_

 _Let 'em watch._

 _Let it follow."_

Some dude side stage is mouthing _what the fuck_ at me but I ignore him and keep going, trying to make Edward meet my eyes.

" _They don't love you, do they?_

 _Grace, born and raised,_

 _Cut you down,_

 _It still bleeds the same,_

 _As it is_

 _Forgive, anytime,_

 _Still forgive, anytime."_

I run out of words, my fingers stop moving and I'm standing on stage in front of this growing crowd, flashing hot with shame and anger.

"What the hell was that?" Jasper demands, pulling me away as the crowd applauds.

I don't answer him, I barely pack up my guitar before I haul ass to my friends, Edward, and his family of demons.

Fuck-this was _my_ day. He was _excited_ to see _me_ and he was going to make his parents see that I wasn't a total nightmare and then fucking Tanya is here.

"Hey!" Alice calls, her voice to high, her eyebrows pulled together. I stalk past her, reaching Edward and his sheepish smile.

"You were amazing, Bella," he tells me softly, his father absently nodding in agreement while his mother stares impassively.

"Thanks. I didn't realize you were coming, too, Tanya." I fake sweetness and Edward cringes. She either ignores my tone or is stupid enough to not notice it.

"Oh, well Edward mentioned it at dinner yesterday and when we got back to his place after, Esme was kind enough to invite me along."

I know she's doing this on purpose, is throwing this in my face with her sweat-free complexion and perfectly curled hair. My stomach drops. My throat burns.

Dinner?

Back to his place?

"Oh, right, great. I need to go put this away," I manage to choke out. "Enjoy the festival."

I push my way through the crowd, needing to get some fucking distance. I'll go home, I'll go to Timbuktu, as long as I'm nowhere _near_ this bullshit.

I'm almost to the edge of the park when Edward catches up, his hand closing around my elbow.

"God, you move fast."

I ignore him and keep going, tugging my arm out of his grasp. He keeps following me and tears are threatening to spill down my cheeks.

"Bella. Bella! Will you _wait_ for _one second_ and let me explain?"

It takes everything in me not to throw my guitar to the ground as I whip around to face him. His eyes are wide and he takes a step back.

"Fine. Explain. Make excuses," I spit out at him, his stare hardens.

"I'm not making excuses. I didn't invite her today-that was all my mom. What was I supposed to say?"

I glare at him.

"We may not be actually _together_ but god, dinner? And back to your place? That doesn't feel _wrong_ to you?"

"I _told_ you she was still in my life. It's nice to be able to have someone to talk to about residency and stuff-someone who actually understands this shit."

My eyes narrow and I practically yell, "fully fuck off. So, what? I'm here for your little rebellion against mommy and daddy and to suck your dick but I'm not good enough to carry on any semblance of a deeper relationship with you? Just because I'm not a fucking doctor I'm not smart or empathetic enough to talk to?"

He looks down and softly says, "that's not true."

"It is though! You say you want to change, to be more than what you've always been but you're too scared to actually do it!"

His head snaps up at me, his face furious.

" _I'm_ scared?!"

"Tanya is your safety net and you say you don't agree with your parents but you won't stand up to them. So either you're too chickenshit or you just don't actually _want_ to."

He takes a step towards me, I'm sweating and fuming and _hurt_ and he looks so angry, his eyes are wild.

"What about you?! You're too afraid to actually _do anything_ —throwing yourself pity parties over things you can fucking fix with minimal fucking effort. Grow up, Bella."

I stagger back as if he slapped me, his jaw is tight and people are staring at us, hungry for more drama.

I don't give them anymore, instead I walk away, not bothering to go back to Jake's van as I start the long walk home.

I know I'm going to cry, I'm just not sure when, so, I call Shelly before the floodgates open to tell her that I'll take the fucking classes.

I feel satisfied for about ten seconds after she hangs up, promising me we'll look into registering tomorrow, and then I fall apart over Edward Cullen, dragging my guitar behind me.

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 **song: 'intro' by snail mail**

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 **sorry about the drama and the angst-it won't last forever i swear.**


	28. Chapter 28

**Holy moly I'm completely blow away by the response to the last chapter! I love how opinionated you all are—mostly about how much this E** _ **sucks**_ **. I love it so much and love all of you.**

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Even though classes at Seattle North don't start until the middle of August, the courses Shelly wants me to take are nearly full already.

We sit hunched over her old computer and navigate through webpages and are on hold with Forks High's counselor to ask them to send my transcripts for what feels like hours. I fill out applications and it takes two weeks for them to accept me. I keep telling Shelly that I only need to audit the courses-since I'm not actually getting a degree-but she insists that I take them for credit.

"Just in case you find that you enjoy it."

I doubt I'll enjoy introduction to Business Management and a basic finance class but I hold my tongue, still in awe that she believes that I can actually do this.

Preparing for school is a nice distraction from the constant ache in my chest and my throat whenever I think about Edward (all the time).

You really don't notice someone's presence in your life until you have to experience their absence.

Absence hurts. It fucking suffocates.

But I don't regret the things I said to him-he needed to hear it and I needed to say it. I might need to grow up, but fuck, he does too.

I don't hear from him after the festival.

I don't see him.

He's a ghost. A shadow.

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It's nearly the middle of July when Jake calls screeching to let me know that they got signed to Duck for Cover. I scream with him, feeling so, so happy for my friends getting everything they deserve and when he asks if Jasper and I will play at their album release party in late September, I cry with gratitude.

Almost immediately, Jasper starts going through our roster, trying to put together setlists.

"Have anything new you wanna try out?" he asks me one night while we're sprawled on the living room floor, his computer open in front of us. I put my head on my forearms and groan.

I've tried to write-really-I have, but still, my most recent completed songs were from...before. They're too hopeful and I don't feel like that anymore. They no longer feel real or honest.

Jasper, bless him, doesn't push me to elaborate on anything but I think he knows. All my friends know. That first day-the day of the festival-they all beat me home and were immediately on me as soon as I stepped inside.

Em was worried, saying stuff like, "you can't just leave and not tell anyone, I've been freaking out."

Alice saw my red face, the no doubt devastated look in my eyes and my growing sobs and pulled me upstairs.

I didn't need to tell her about it, I think she already knew. I think they all knew right from the start.

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Phone calls with my parents become unbearable. I don't tell them about taking classes yet-I don't want to get their hopes up and I don't want their growing expectations. I keep it to myself, I keep most everything to myself

Instead, I listen to what my former classmates are doing with their lives and what movies are good and how my dad is redoing the upstairs bathroom and try to participate.

When I tell them that Jake got signed and that I'm playing their album release party, they don't bother to muster any excitement. My mom whispers in her gossipy tone that she thinks Emmett has a girlfriend.

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I miss Rose until she and Em become an official item and then she's over at our place constantly and never stops talking to me.

"Your place is closer to the shop," she explains when I find her shampoo in our shower.

"Em really is sweet when he's not being a stick in the mud," she muses over eggs one morning.

"You look like hell," she tells me as they come home from a date. "I wish you'd both just make up already, he's driving me nuts and his mom won't stop _calling-_ "

I'm really getting sick of Rose.

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The first day of school is nerve wracking. Alice lends me an old backpack and we filled it with notebooks and pens and even my shitty, barely working laptop. Since my class doesn't start until 6, I work at Ballard all day and try to give lessons and try even harder not to anxiously puke.

At five, Shelly makes me leave and dread is filling the pit of my stomach until I see Em leaning against the wall of the building next to our, waiting for me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask suspiciously. He usually isn't off work until five thirty.

"I'm here to walk you to school. My little baby is all grown up," he says will a fake sniffle, wiping an invisible tear from his cheek.

I want to tell him to fuck off, to say that I'm an adult and I can handle taking myself to a night class, but I'm so relieved that he's here that I could cry.

"Intro classes are so easy," he says as we wait for the bus. "And I can definitely help you with any of the finance stuff."

I squeeze his hand.

Thankfully, he does most of the talking, just trying to distract me from my own head. He tells me about Rose and how he wants to get a tattoo from her, that he thinks she's the coolest person he's ever met-besides me, of course-and that it sucks that Edward and I didn't work out.

I stare at him, turning his phrasing over in my mind.

Didn't work out?

Is that all it was?

It sounds so much simpler than I'd been making it out to be.

Too simple to still _hurt_ this much nearly two months later.

I still want to tell him I'm taking classes and let him know about Jake's band and walk with him and make him relax for like five minutes and it makes me so sad to think that we just...didn't work.

We never should've worked anyway, I'm not surprised or anything by that truth, just annoyed that I let it get to me, that I allowed myself to hope that maybe we would have.

When we're off the bus, Em asks, "do you have pencils?"

I nod.

"Paper."

Nod.

"A desire to better yourself through sweet, sweet education?"

Eye roll.

As we near the building whose name I scrawled messily on my palm, he stops me and smiles softly.

"Seriously, B, I know this is hard for you and I'm so fucking proud you're doing it anyway. You're gonna be great." He squeezes my shoulder and I hug him tightly and try not to cry.

"Now get in there and kick some academic ass."

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	29. Chapter 29

**Wow—I love your reviews so much—thank you for taking the time to not only read this, but engage with it.**

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I don't hate studying as much as I thought I would-especially because I can relate everything back to the shop. Shelly and I go over tax forms and sales records and budgets and it's kind of fun to see how these courses are actually applicable to things I actually give a shit about.

Who knew?

"I knew," Emmett pipes up from the couch when I voice this, trying to take notes from a second hand textbook that someone definitely spilled an entire pot of coffee over.

"Shut up, Em," Rose and I say at the same time. She's drawing across from me at the kitchen table, her sketchbook open and filled with her signature thick, black lines.

Her phone buzzes next to her intermittently-enough for her to not even bother scrolling through the texts before she calls someone.

"What?" she snaps, then softens. "I don't know, I'm hanging out with Em and Bella...good...you could just ask for yourself...yeah, she's still calling...that's not my job and you know it. Deal with your shit."

When she hangs up, she's rolling her eyes as she turns her phone off.

"Everything okay?" Emmett asks, peering over the back of the sofa. Rose lets out an irritated breath.

"Yeah, Edward is just...taking it from all sides lately. I'd be more annoyed if I didn't feel so damned sorry for him. But still, I wanna strangle him."

My ears burn at the mention of his name, my vision going blurry for just a moment as my heart clenches.

But that's it.

Things are getting better, just a little, and I barely even feel like crying over him anymore, even though Rose keeps looking over at me, her expression unreadable.

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" _Lay off me, would you?_

 _I'm just trying to take this new skin for a spin._

 _Pray for me, would you?_

 _I'm just nervous 'bout my family filing in,_

 _Ready to wrap me up,_

 _Ready to love me in this new skin I'm filling in."_

Jasper chuckles to himself and it make me pause, faltering in my newest try at a song.

"I take it you told your parents about Seattle North?" he asks with a stupid smirk. I scratch nervously at my arm, letting my guitar hang loosely around my shoulders.

It could have been worse, honestly. This past Sunday they called to ask what I was doing for my birthday-if I wanted to come home to celebrate. I bit my lip and considered. I have class on my birthday so I wouldn't be able to go up to Forks anyway, and we were all just going to go out afterwards.

I bite the bullet.

"I, um, can't. I have class that night."

The pause is excruciating, I feel like I hold my breath forever.

And then mom is crying and my dad is still silent and I'm just...in hell.

"Oh honey, _class_? So you've given school another chance?" she blubbers and it's embarrassing how much this fucking means to her.

"I'm just taking a few classes, not getting my degree or anything. A few business courses at a community college."

At the word _business_ she loses it-absolutely loses it and my dad tells me how proud they are of me and asks if I need money for books or anything.

"No, I just...thought you'd want to know."

And even though I said I didn't need anything, a check for 200 dollars arrived in the mail two days later, disguised in a birthday card.

So now I'm annoyed and writing this song and Jasper thinks it's funny but it's _not_.

I don't feel like myself anymore, and while that's not necessarily a bad thing, it's disconcerting as all hell. I don't bother singing the rest to him, I huff and ask to move on.

 _You will find me right where I fell,_

 _I am a tired woman, next week I will just be 23._

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It's taken Shelly like, forty years to find out that there is an upstairs to Ballard Music that she has complete access to. I'm trying to take notes of our stock, trying to figure out what regular orders need to be changed and I find a door behind one of the shelves full of dusty vinyl.

I make Jasper and Alice help me clear the shelves and pull them back, just enough so that we can tug the door open and slip inside.

"I bet there are like, generations of spiders in there," Alice points out.

"Maybe even entire spider civilizations," Jasper adds.

"What if they're already more advanced than us," she gasps, fighting a laugh.

"We're opening Pandora's Box."

"Would both of you shut up and hand me my phone?"

Alice complies with a giggle, turning my flashlight app on and allowing me to illuminate the creaky, wooden staircase in front of me.

And while it's true I find some dead spiders littering the steps, it's not as bad as it could be. There's a single window against the front wall and I can see the Starbucks through the layers of dust and grime. The space is probably half the size of the shop, but it's completely empty and the floor feels pretty solid.

When I ask Shelly about it, she just shrugs and says that she never really thought about it.

"What would we do with a dusty, old attic anyway?" she asks, not looking up from her magazine.

I think about a studio apartment to rent out for extra income, or maybe a rentable recording space for local bands.

There's a fuck ton we could do with a dusty, old attic.

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Class drags on my birthday. I sit by myself in the back as usual and try to pay attention but it's hard because finance is really fucking boring and the teacher is from Romania so I can barely understand him through his thick accent.

I watch his thick moustache move as he speaks and try to pick out keywords but all I can think about is going to my favorite dive bar and getting trashed with my friends.

I definitely do my best to avoid thoughts of the one person I want to be there, but definitely won't be.

I try to focus on the bad parts of him-the parts that were too scared and unwilling to connect, but they get clouded with the good parts. The feel of his hand on my thigh, the low timbre of his laugh, the way he _saw_ me.

When we're finally released from finance hell and into the night, I've decided that I need to get very, very drunk.

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Our first mistake was starting off with double shots of tequila followed by yet another shot of tequila.

"I'm just not feeling it," Alice whined, turning her used lime between her fingers and staring longingly at the bar. "Is my tolerance too high? Do we drink too much?"

It took about twenty minutes and we were all definitely on our way to being absolutely hammered. Em held up his beer to signal a toast, all of us raising our own plastic cups, beer sloshing sloppily onto our hands.

"To Bella, the scrappiest punk I've ever known."

Alice chimes in, "the hottest thing Luke Danes's clothes since Luke Danes himself."

"The best goddamn songwriter in the biz," Jasper adds and I can't tell if I'm laughing or crying.

"My new best fucking friend," Rose finishes and they all turn to me like I'm supposed to say something about myself.

I just chug my beer.

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We go to a karaoke bar because Alice and Em insist that they have the _perfect_ song for me to sing, slurring their way through pleas and giggles.

They make me sing one of my all-time favorites, so I'm not mad when I get on stage and the opening chords to blink-182's _What's My Age Again_ start blasting.

I don't need to even look at the screen and it only takes until the chorus for Emmett to join me on stage while we scream, _and that's about the time she walked away from me! Nobody likes you when you're twenty three!_

I'm breathless and laughing and drunk as shit and I haven't been this happy in months.

Maybe ever.

We wander the streets, going from bar to bar and by the time we get to a food truck and we stuff our faces with burgers and fries. Rose and I are leaning on each other, groaning in satisfaction at the meal when I feel her phone buzz and buzz and buzz against my leg.

"Oh, shit," she mutters, pulling it out. I just see a text, _are you alive?_ but I know who it's from.

"He's such a big brother," she says, shaking her head but she's smiling as she texts back, _yes, warden._

I hum to acknowledge she's said something, but I don't have any words to give her. She grabs my hands, too hard, and her eyes are having a hard time focusing on me. Then again, she's blurry no matter how many times I blink.

"I keep telling him to talk you," she says. "But he thinks he's screwed up like, forever."

I don't respond, I just keep blink blink blinking.

She keeps going, "I know he was an inexcusable dick to you but like, his parents are paying for school. Can't bite the hand that feeds ya, right?"

She stuffs a handful of fries in her mouth, looking at me earnestly with her ice blue eyes while she chews.

"He hasn't spoken to them since the festival, if that means anything to you."

I'm sure it means a lot of things to me, but my brain is so fuzzy and I'm dizzy from opening and closing my eyes so much and heat is blooming in my chest but I don't know if it's affection or hurt or heartburn.

She squeezes my hands before she lets go, getting to her feet while she looks around for Emmett.

Sitting on the curb alone, listening to the city ebb and flow around me, I feel okay. I have good friends, I might have a future professionally, and I'm a damn good musician.

I'm a _really fucking good_ musician.

I feel light, as if I could float away if not for the heaviest weight in my chest. I can blame it on the alcohol or on Rose's talk or on just being a sad idiot, but no matter the cause, I text Edward.

None of my own words, just a picture I had saved of the flyer for the album release party, the one that says what time I'll be onstage.

 _It feels like an invitation_ , I think tiredly, and then I fall asleep on the sidewalk.

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 **song 'new skin' by TORRES**

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	30. Chapter 30

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In the days leading up to the release party, I field calls from Jake and Leah asking for help with a variety of tasks. Can I pick up t-shirts from the printer? Is my setlist finished? What if they swapped this song for this song? Oh my god is this record terrible and are they going to fail and bomb and fail?

It's exhausting because I can only tell them that they're amazing so many times before they stop believing me.

Is this how my friends feel all the time about me?

Fuck.

I pick up the shirts and Jasper and I run though our setlist about 800 fucking times and I send reassuring texts so often that I feel like I need to look up the phrase _you got this_ in a thesaurus.

I'm also constantly checking my phone for a response to my drunken pseudo-invitation, though I know at this point it's futile. I can't even muster up any embarrassment about not getting a response. I shot my shot.

"He definitely got it," Rose tells me when she's not biting her lip on my bed. "He won't stop asking me questions about it-definitely wear the blue one-but it's the same night as Aunt Esme's annual bullshit fundraiser for some feel-good rich person charity."

I put the green t-shirt back in my drawer, smoothing the navy one out on the bed next to her. I've never been nervous about what to wear to a gig-like, ever.

But he _might_ be there and so…

"She always makes him go and play the doting son, but I still don't think he's spoken to her so I guess we'll see."

I put on a full face of makeup and then wipe it all off, opting for just a little eyeliner and leaving my hair loose and tangled and messy. The muscle-tee cut of my shirt shows off the tattoo Rose gave me and just a little too much of the sides of the lacy bralette Alice insisted I buy. I've got a pair of worn jeans and I'm braving a pair of boots that have just a little bit of a higher heel than I usually go for.

"I'm just saying, you look so good that if he doesn't show up, _someone_ will want to take you home," Rose laughs, swatting suggestively at my ass.

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"Are you sure you want to close with that one?" Jasper asks, squinting at the half sheet of paper in my hands.

"Absolutely," I say with a nod. I know why he's apprehensive-it's new. One of the first new ones I've written in months and he's not entirely sure we've practiced it enough.

I wrote it in the middle of the night-I'm always waking up in the middle of the night now, dreaming of Edwards dumb, beautiful face and his stupid, deep voice and I jolt awake sad and holding my phone and I just want to _sleep_.

I want to be able to stop dwelling on the last few months and focus on right now-and even maybe the future.

I love this song though-it's definitely one of the best I've ever written, and even if he doesn't come to this show, I have this song and maybe I can let him fucking go.

We're at the bar now, drinking Bud Light and going over the setlist and trying to not be nervous about tonight. Because this is like, a real gig. We watch reps from Duck for Cover run around and talk to bartenders and the club owner and Jake is continuously straightening up their merch table while the Replacements tune and re-tune their instruments.

I try to assure Leah as she sits beside me that the ticket buyers are already fans-are friends and family and die-hard supporters.

"I know, but still," she says. "This is like, setting the precedent for the rest of our professional lives."

"It's just another gig," I tell her, though my own expectations hanging on tonight make it feel like a lie.

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I spot Rose leaning against Emmett while we're waiting for the lights to go down. When she catches my eye, she shrugs and looks away.

He's not here.

The lights dim and I can't wallow-I have to go out on that stage and get the crowd energized and ready to fucking lose their shit over my friends and their hard work.

I can, however, be angry.

We go through the set, mostly comprised of songs I wrote when I was still with Mike and we were fighting all the time. I include a few of the fuck-you songs I wrote to Edward just in case he's here because fuck him.

But the anger fades as the setlist dwindles and we play a gentler song-still fun, still rocking-but it's not angry. It's almost...asking, pleading.

" _It's been a while since I've seen you,_

 _gotta pull our shit together._

 _Hey, remember that time that we slept together?_

 _And we just slept and your best friend had a go at me,_

 _I don't hold that against her."_

Rose raises her drink to me in the crowd, smiling sadly because she still hasn't seen him.

The chorus begs, _let's go out and have fun tonight, let's go out and get drunk tonight_ , because I would give anything to go back to those first few weeks.

By the time we get to the last song I'm raw with emotion. I can't tell if I'm going to scream or cry or kick or run, but I manage to stay put and mumble into the microphone that, "if you're here, this song is for you."

It starts off softly, the guitar gradually getting louder and I strum and I hate how shaky my voice is when I sing, " _two a.m. or something, and the past won't leave the present alone, leave me alone._ "

As the song builds, so do I, my throat is burning from singing and screaming and the pain is welcome as I keep going.

" _And although I never listen,_

 _your voice is loud in my, my goddamn head boy,_

 _all the other animals are laughing at me and you._ "

The crowd is rapt with attention, watching and nodding and for once, I wish they weren't. This feels too personal and I can't help but worry I've made a mistake by doing this.

" _Can't escape this perspective,_

 _or the mark that was left on me,_

 _damaged goods for the world to see,_

 _they walk straight past and away from me_."

This next part is repetitive but hurts my voice because I get progressively louder, progressively more into it because, " _I know I'm lucky this makes me feel better_."

Because it does-there's a catharsis in doing this. People don't usually get to scream all their thoughts and insecurities and demons at a crowd of people while they _listen_.

" _This makes me feel animal and real_."

I look to my friends, needing that last assurance that they're here and they love me and that everything is going to be okay.

But they're gone.

In their place, in rumpled gray scrubs, is Edward.

My breath catches and my eyes burn and he's _here_.

And frankly, he looks like shit, even in this dim lighting. His hair is too long again and I'm sure his eyes are ringed with dark circles and he looks lost and found and desperate and hopeful all at once.

I try to keep my voice steady but I'm nearly screaming the remaining lines of the song at him.

" _2 a.m. came around,_

 _smother the pain with sound,_

 _or it just bringing you down?_

 _Let's talk about saving face!_

 _Let's talk about putting me in my place!_

 _Come out and then walk away,_

 _Walk away,_

 _Walk away,_

 _Walk away,_

I'm crying and my voice shakes but I manage to get out the last line, " _as long as you came._ "

The audience has no fucking idea what to do with the tears streaming down my face-I don't fucking don't either. I just unplug my guitar and walk off stage, finding Jake and Leah waiting in the wings.

"That was…" Jake starts, studying my face. "So fucking incredible."

Jasper's behind me in an instant, telling me to go calm down, he'll grab the rest of the equipment and I'm numbly walking out the side door and into the chilly air, trying to figure out what I'm going to say to the man in the crowd who actually fucking showed up.

But Edward is waiting for me outside, leaning against the brick wall of the building until I appear and he's in front of me and I realize that he's been crying, too.

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 **songs: 'let's go out' by alex lahey**

' **animal and real' by camp cope**

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 **hooooboy lets get a-talkin' am I right?**

 **also—I highly rec listening to that camp cope song—it's perfect, one of my all time faves and the emotion is** _ **so there**_


	31. Chapter 31

**Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii I'm back!**

 **I'm so glad so many of you liked "animal and real"-it truly is one of my favorite songs of all time. To answer a question I got, some songs inspire things in this story, while others I find to match certain parts, though they're all songs I listen to constantly anyway.**

 **ANYWAY TIME TO TALK!**

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 **31.**

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When he says my name, I'm afraid the tears will start again with a vengeance-just with the pure relief of hearing him say, "Bella."

He takes a tentative step towards me, looking like it's taking everything in him to not close the distance completely and I can't decide if I want him to or not.

Because he really hurt my fucking feelings.

"You came," I say in my watery voice. He swallows hard.

"I'm so sorry I was late. I came straight from the hospital. I was supposed to be off at 6 but they needed me to stay. I caught the last few songs and god, I've missed seeing you on stage."

He steps forward again and into the light hanging above the door, and I really see him for the first time in months.

He looks older, not in a bad way, but I can tell he's exhausted. The dark circles are under his eyes and the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow cover his jaw. He's also got a line between his eyebrows, as if he's furrowed them so much it's starting to stick. His hair is not only longer, but wilder as well, his hands pulled through it way too many times.

"You look terrible," I blurt because if I don't say something right now, I might do something stupid like kiss him.

He laughs and tells me, "between the hospital and...all this...sleep is kind of an afterthought."

"Haircuts, too," I murmur and before I can stop myself, my fingers are moving hair out of his eyes, brushing lightly against his forehead. His eyes close and he lets out a shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so, so, so sorry. I know I don't deserve any forgiveness or any sort of second chance but I just want you to know that I'm sorry and you were right, about everything."

I lean against the wall to steady because he's _apologizing_.

"I should have let you in, I...when I'd gotten dinner with Tanya...and all that weird time before, I'd lost a patient."

I let out a breath and say, "fuck, Edward, I'm so sorry."

I feel terrible and guilty but he smiles.

"I should've come to you—you would get it. I hate working in such a dire setting, I hate how often _kids_ die and sometimes there's nothing I can do. I...everyone was saying to get over it, that it happens and just—"

"Someone died," I interject. "You're allowed to be upset about it, Jesus Christ."

He falls against the wall next to me and says, "thank you."

We're silent for a moment, I can hear the music from inside playing loudly over the speakers. I probably have 20 minutes until Jake and Leah actually go on.

"I haven't spoken to them...to my mom or to Tanya," he continues. "You were right about that, too. After you stormed off, I'd gone back to them and they were saying all these horrible things and just...you're so much better than that. Than them. So, I left, too. It was hard, growing up the only child, I had too much of their attention and with them paying for school...I hate being financially tied to them. That's why I got that Starbucks job. I don't care if they cut me off completely, I can get loans or whatever. I know it doesn't really matter, but I just wanted you to know."

"It's like you vanished from me, too," I say and it's nearly a whisper. "It's been months."

"You were the one who left...I guess I thought that I needed to give you space and wait for you to be ready, but a few days turned into weeks and I thought you were really done with me. I wouldn't blame you. But then you sent me that text and...I started to hope maybe things weren't completely hopeless."

He hesitates and turns to me before he asks, "are they? Completely hopeless?"

My heart thunders at the soft tenor of his voice and I barely manage to whisper out, "I don't know."

Because I don't.

I can't keep playing games and hanging onto some dream that someday he'll give me what I want-to be more than what we are, to be treated like I should be.

His lips purse and he nods once, his jaw set. Determined.

"I want to prove to you that I've changed-you're...you're so important to me, Bella. When I'm with you I feel like I can fucking _breathe_. And I'm sorry I was too caught up in my own shit to even see that-to not give you what you deserve-the whole fucking world."

I shake my head. "I don't need the world. I just needed you to see me as more than an escape. I can't do no-strings-attached, not with you."

"I know that now. I do. And I'll spend the rest of my life proving it-if you'd let me."

"Maybe," I say, though he can see me fighting back the smallest of smiles.

When he grabs my hand, we both let out shaky breaths. His palm is so warm against mine and the pain of _missing_ and _absence_ rushes to the surface. I thought it all hurt so much before, but I had no idea. Because for this brief moment, I am without it. He's here, and he's holding my hand and all I can hear is muffled music and his breathing.

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I tell him that I have to go back in, that I have to watch Jake and Leah and support them and he nods, saying, "oh, yeah, I completely understand," but he hesitates when I start to go back inside. I bite the inside of my cheek before asking, "do you want to stand with me?"

His grin cracks his face in half and I'm suddenly feeling shy as he follows me inside.

I can hardly focus on their set-I know that it's good and I cheer at all the right times, but Edward is standing next to me for the first time in months and I can't stop watching him. I don't think he can stop watching me either.

We keep our distance from each other, not touching no matter how badly I want to-I'm afraid and we slip into an awkward dance of wanting to be close, but knowing we shouldn't.

Because a lot has changed since we last saw each other-including the both of us-and mixed with all his familiarity, it feels like I'm meeting him all over again.

Maybe that's a good thing.

When the set is over and the lights come on and the crowd starts to disperse, we remain in our spots, not speaking, not quite sure what to do-do we call each other later? Do we meet up tomorrow? What are we now?

Edward asks tentatively, "do you want to get some pizza?" and I could laugh or cry but I only say, "yes, I really do."

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 **Phew. And now things are on the upswing!**


	32. Chapter 32

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We go to that same pizza place we went to the first time we really hung out together, the one near his apartment. We don't take the bus or his car or anything, just walking together in relatively comfortable silence.

I go to text Alice or Emmett and tell them where I am, but Alice has already texted me, _be careful, we'll talk when you're home_.

I can't help but laugh. She's so nosy, but she means well. Edward looks at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Just Alice being Alice," I explain with a shrug and a smile. He almost grimaces.

"She wants to kill me," he says.

"Definitely. I'm surprised Em hasn't already."

Edward shudders but laughs, "only because Rose won't let him."

I like to think of my friends defending me, of being on my side, and warmth spreads in my chest.

When we sit in a booth and start looking over menus, I'm struck by how easy this is again, how comfortable this feels.

But there's still that twinge of nervousness, of afraid of being hurt. Then he looks up at me through his thick lashes and I realize that I've cared for him more than I've been able to admit to myself.

I wonder if he's ever been in love.

He asks me about school.

"Rose mentioned you were taking some classes," he explains. I nod, closing my menu.

"Shelly wants me to learn more about everything she does before she...passes Ballard on to me."

He drops his menu, grinning hugely and eyes shining.

"Oh, Bella, that's so great. I'm so happy for you. What classes are you taking? Are you liking them?"

He's so invested in hearing everything about my little adventures at community college, it's hard to reconcile him with someone who thinks he's better than me.

And I realize that he never really thought that-that this wasn't ever about me. His issues were his and his alone-but then again, so were mine.

I stop talking about my finance professor's thick accent and instead tell him, "you were right about me, too. I'm...I needed a wakeup call."

He doesn't get to respond, just stares at me with sad eyes while the waiter takes our order.

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"So…" Alice says literally as soon as I step inside. She's sitting on the couch, waiting up for me, while Jasper snores softly next to her. "Did he grovel and beg for your forgiveness?"

"Alice," I sigh, coming to sit on the floor in front of her. "He _did_ apologize. A lot."

"Hmph."

"He's not a bad guy, he just...had some stuff he needed to work on. We both did."

She doesn't seem entirely convinced, but I know that I'm right. It occurs to me then that maybe we just, met at the wrong time or something.

Like, maybe as we were, we wouldn't have worked out...and maybe we just needed a push in the right direction.

My heart stutters to even imagine Edward finding me worth changing for, to wait for me to change for him. I try to imagine myself before this moment, more scared and uncertain than ever, not in school and not going after what I want. I feel _good_ and I hope he feels the same.

"We'll see," Alice mutters.

I guess we will.

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We meet in neutral places.

Pizza place.

Ballard Music.

The hospital food court.

We rediscover each other, we share more and talk more and we don't kiss.

We don't have sex in his bed and he doesn't spend the night in my room. All the little things he'd left on my dresser are gathering dust, untouched.

We sit across from each other in restaurant booths and he asks me about school and tells me about his days, about what the kids are like. He tells me the funny things they tell him as he shadows doctors and he softly mentions when things take turns for the worse.

When he comes to Ballard on his days off, I show him all the changes I want to make, the scuffed floors, the space upstairs, and he listens so intently, like he's soaking up every sound I make, no matter how trivial.

I meet him for lunch some days when he can, and I try not to drool over him with his scrubs and stethoscope as he buys me a sandwich. He holds my hand when he walks me to the lobby and introduces me to everyone who tells him hello on the way.

On days we see each other and on days we don't, he always texts me before he goes to bed, letting me know through everything, he's still thinking of me.

Before I go to bed, I write more songs to someday let him know the same.

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We have Trivia Night three weeks before Halloween, but Alice still insists everyone dresses up.

"I don't even have a costume yet," Emmett complains when she announces it. Alice rolls her eyes.

"Not like, an actual costume. A fun one. Something simple."

She wears a red dress and colors her hair green. A strawberry.

Em wears a football jersey and shamelessly stares at Rose in her Tom-Cruise-in-Risky-Business get up. Jasper, as always, dresses the same and insists he's dressed as Kurt Cobain. Edward comes straight from work and stays in his scrubs, making fun of my costume-a child's blue Power Ranger full body suit that must have belonged to a big fucking kid. Two dollars at Goodwill.

Edward stares at my ass while I dig through the Trivia Box.

He blushes when I catch him.

I decide that tonight is the night that sex should be back on the table.

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"Anthony Michael Hall was _not_ the kid in _Vacation_! It's the dude from _Big Bang Theory_!"

"No it's fucking _not_!"

Em and Jasper are so drunk it takes them five minutes to figure out that they were talking about two different _Vacation_ movies.

Rose watches on, amused, as always, sipping her whiskey and cider while Alice frantically paws through discarded objects on the floor to find the die that Em threw. Edward sits on the floor between my legs, his head lolling back onto my thigh. I think he's falling asleep-it's after midnight, early by our standards, but I know he's been up since six.

"Come on," I say in his ear, tugging him to his feet while the others yell good-naturedly at each other and help Alice with her search.

He follows me upstairs, his hand dropping from mine and running slowly along my spandex covered thigh. It makes me shiver.

In my room, he hesitates at the dresser, seeing one of his t-shirts hanging out of the top drawer before his eyes land on my notebook.

"This one is different than the other one you had," he says quietly. I shrug, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"I filled it up, had to get a new one." He nods, lips pursed at the un-creased cover.

"I convinced Emmett to send me your old bandcamp page," he admits. "I missed your voice so much, I listened to it pretty non-stop."

I turn bright red, trying to remember what songs were on that page that I stopped using _years_ ago. He makes his way to the bed, but lingers on the acoustic guitar in the corner, covered in stickers.

"Would you, um, play something for me? Something new?"

He looks so nervous-as if this is his way of asking me, _how am I doing? Am I proving myself at all?_ He knows that I'm better at expressing myself through song-that I'm more honest and it makes me warm because he _knows_ me.

I bite my lip, but I know what song to play. He hands me the guitar and settles in against my pillows while I make sure I'm in tune, his eyes never leaving me. I close my eyes to keep from shaking under the utter intensity of his gaze.

It's such a soft song, and even while I strum, I can still hear the faint hum of voices downstairs.

" _We all sold weed for a while,_

 _and we've all made our mother cry,_

 _it's a habit that I've finally broken,_

 _at this point in my life._

 _Now I'm kinda getting by,_

 _and I'd rather be at home with you than anywhere else._

 _and now I'm turning onto your street,_

 _now I love you like you never hurt me._

 _The planet took a real sharp turn_

 _before all that space in between._

 _So, I wrote you this song,_

 _it probably isn't as good as all the other sad ones…"_

I flush at the word _love_ and squeeze my eyes shut tighter in embarrassment. _Love_ was the only word I could think of...it was the closest word to... _I respect you I admire you I miss you I want you I never stop thinking of you_.

Maybe that's what the word means, anyway.

" _And for all the things I've seen,_

 _there's still some wounds that I need to clean._

 _But let's move far away from here,_

 _if I ever get my degree._

 _And we'll live happily,_

 _get some rescue dogs in a house by the sea,_

 _and I promise I'll take care of you,_

 _if you promise to let me."_

He silent when I finish and I'm afraid to open my eyes but when I do, he's reaching for me and I'm putting the guitar down on the floor and his hands are in my hair.

When he kisses me, the world ends and starts again.

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 **song: 'the omen' by camp cope**

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	33. Chapter 33

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Midterms are approaching and goddammit, I'm studying.

A lot.

In my downtime at the shop, before I go to bed, while Edward presses his mouth to my neck and asks me to take a break.

I don't know what's come over me.

It's probably the fact that Shelly is already talking about her plans to move to Florida.

Openly.

In front of everyone.

Like, tick tock bitch you're on a schedule to get your shit together.

She doesn't say that, but it's implied.

So, I study.

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On his days off, Edward helps me clean the second floor of the shop. We listen to music and sweep and scrub and I scream while he kills spiders.

We clean the layers of dust and grime off the windows and the space gets a decent amount of light.

"What are you going to do with it?" he asks me one day while we sit on the newly clean floor, looking at the sky through the newly clean windows.

"I don't know," I tell him. "I was thinking about renting it out as an apartment, but there's no outside entrance."

He considers this, but ends up saying, "you should use it for your shows."

"Shows?"

He continues, "yeah, the ones you wanted to do-like those Tiny Desk shows."

God, I mentioned that to him _ages_ ago.

"You could soundproof it, mess with the acoustics-just something to think about."

He's saying all this and my brain is just an endless loop of _love love love love love_.

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Halloween is decidedly one of my favorite days, one where even though Edward works, I come to the hospital and help some other volunteers pass out candy while the kids trick or treat from their beds or in the halls. I watch his interactions with each of them, the gentleness of his smile and the way they seem to glow with joy whenever he's giving them attention. He's got a pirate hat on and a fake parrot stuck to his shoulder paired with his usual scrubs and he points me out to the kids, winking at me when he does.

They grin, coming to me for treats and asking if Dr. Cullen is really my boyfriend and not just my friend like he says.

I sputter and laugh and _god, is_ he my boyfriend?

When the fun is over, he takes his short break in his car, pressed against me with his mouth hot on my skin while I prattle on about all the kids and he just hums in acknowledgement, the sound vibrating against my skin.

"Sorry I lied to them," he mutters, smirking. I pull his face up, level with mine, questioning. "I only tell them you're my friend because it's simpler."

"Am I _not_ your friend?" I feign offense, pulling away from him. He laughs and I feel the sound against me.

"You're so much more."

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We bar hop near the university with everyone else later among throngs of costumed college kids. We get too drunk and dance too much and I smoke two cigarettes and a joint with Jasper while Edward isn't looking because he's a doctor and he'd disapprove. He frowns when he kisses me because I didn't offer a drag to him.

When our heads are starting to hurt and our high is turning into a slow sleepiness, we head back to his place, showering the grime of the night off of us before it turns into panting and being pressed against the shower wall. He sets out water and Tylenol and gives me one of his t-shirts before he falls into bed next to me, his arm draped across my side, where it stays until morning.

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The first weeks of November are busier than I ever thought possible. Shelly announces that she is spending the upcoming holidays in Florida with her son and will be gone for a month. She tells me one afternoon that she can't wait to be in the heat and the sun, gesturing to the gloomy gray sky outside.

I prepare for holiday sales, going through our old and new inventories, making notes for prices and deals and what we could do with the profits. I continue to mess with the room upstairs, though it's so pristine at this point, there isn't anything left to do except...use it.

I make budget sheets with Alice and rehearse with Jasper for some upcoming local shows we signed up for and have enough money to start buying some modest Christmas presents early.

My mom calls on Sundays and we talk about my classes and my plans for the shop and for Thanksgiving and my dad mentions that they'd like to come visit me and Em sometime in Seattle-something they have never done before.

Rose gives me more tattoos, each one more elaborate than the last as she gains skill and soon my bicep is nearing a half-sleeve of black lines.

I spend a lot of time in the silence of Edward's kitchen during my off days, while he and Rose are at work. I can spread out my notes and papers on the table, the radio the only noise to keep me focused. When he gets home, we talk about our days and make dinner together and it's very domestic and not something I ever thought I wanted.

Eating jarred pasta sauce and over-cooked penne with him makes me think that it is.

It's nearly Thanksgiving when I'm finally making plans to replace the floor in Ballard. I've got pictures and linoleum samples laid out in front of me, biting my thumbnail while the Strokes play softly on the radio.

Edward should be home soon but I have dinner plans with Alice so I'm not sure if we'll actually cross paths, though I did order him some takeout. He's usually so tired after his newly assigned Sunday shifts.

There's a knock at the door, and I go to answer it, ready to tease him.

"Is this some kind of new role-play-"

My words stop dead because Edward is not trying to play a sexy game with me. Esme Cullen is standing on the stoop, looking uncertain and more than a little surprised to see me.

I want to slam the door in her face but I can't help but wonder why she's here. Edward hasn't spoken to her since July.

We take each other in, size each other up, her with a rain dampened coat and perfectly applied lipstick. Me with Edward's t-shirt and hair sloppily pulled back.

She clears her throat and asks in her clipped tone, "is my son here?"

Her voice actually kind of wavers and she swallows hard when she's finished talking.

She's nervous.

"Um, he works today. He should be back soon."

She grimaces as the rain picks up.

"Would it...would you mind if I waited for him inside?"

I don't know what to do. It's not my house, it's not my mother, and I don't know if Edward wants to actually see her.

But if he does, I don't want to be the one who threw her out.

I step aside, letting her into the warm living room. I don't offer to take her coat or anything, I just go back to my stuff in the kitchen and try to play it cool, like I'm not a total mess over her presence.

I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she wanders around the living room, lingering at the wall near the window.

I know what's there, a taped collage of polaroids from Halloween. All of us outside the house. Rose and Emmett playfully bickering over something. Rose and I flexing next to some guy dressed as Popeye. Edward lifting me in the air while I squawk in surprise. Me curled into his side, trying to steal his drink while he's not looking. His smile is huge in all of them, lit up and drunk and so, so happy.

She makes her way through the displays of his life, the books on his shelves, the little keyboard set up next to my old acoustic guitar in the corner.

When she reaches me in the kitchen, her curiosity gets the better of her and she inspects the table, my flooring options.

"What are you doing?" she asks tentatively, her eyes skimming my budgeting notes from a safe distance.

"I'm looking at getting a new floor for the shop, our old one is just so worn down and I know that these cosmetic things aren't super important but-"

"But it adds a little life back," she finishes and we stare at each other like neither of us can believe that she _gets_ something _I_ 'm doing.

She looks at the samples again and says, "I recommend the Diamond brand, their products are built for high traffic."

"Oh, um, good to know. Thanks."

She nods, and I check the time.

"Shit, I'm late," I mutter to myself and start shoving stuff in my bag. Esme steps back, going to inspect the rest of the kitchen. I'm reaching for the door knob when the door swings open, Edward stepping inside, shaking rain from his hair.

"Oh good, you're still here," he says when he sees me, pulling me to him before I can mention the elephant in the other room. His kiss is sweet and quick and he's telling me that one of his patients got to go home today.

"You remember Bree? The girl stuck in bed on Halloween? Her tests post-surgery were all fantastic-her mom was _so_ happy, Bella, I wish you could've seen it."

His smile is everything, enough to make me forget about his mother and the fact that Alice is going to be pissed when she's waiting at the table for me, I just want him to tell me more about what made him happy today.

But he freezes, his gaze fixed over my shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" His voice is hard. Wary.

"I was hoping we could talk," Esme says. "Bella let me in."

He looks to me for confirmation, eyes narrowed. I can only shrug.

"I'm going to dinner, but there's Chinese on the counter," I tell him. More softly I say, "talk to her, or don't, I just wanted to give you the option."

He presses his lips to mine again, his expression more tired than anything now.

"Are you coming back here later?" he asks.

"If you want me to," I say and he grins.

"I'll always want you to."

I bid him a quiet, "good luck," and slip outside, pulling my coat on and heading for the restaurant, any anxiety I had over his mom being there squashed by a feeling that could only, really, be love.

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	34. Chapter 34

**Hi! I know. It has been an insanely long time. I started a new job—I'm a teacher now (yikes) so things have been exhausting and hectic but so good. Let's just jump back in.**

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Alice is sitting at a table in the back, drumming her nails on the table and looking annoyed.

At me.

"I know, I'm sorry I'm late," I say. "But you'll never guess what just happened."

As I explain myself, her annoyance dissipates, her want for gossip and drama taking its place.

"Well shit," she says plainly when I'm done and taking a drink of my newly arrived beer. "You'll either go back to a bloodbath or ye olde mama's boy."

I want to roll my eyes.

"There's gotta be some middle ground," I mutter, and I think there will be.

I hope there will be.

We move on, talking about our upcoming Thanksgiving plans. Alice is going with Jasper to his family's Christmas in Texas, so they're going to spend this holiday together in Portland with her dad and step-mom. We talk about how Rose is coming with Em and I to Forks, god bless her soul, though Em is thrilled to not have to face his parents alone.

Unlike _me_.

It occurs to me then that I never asked Edward if he had the day off or what his plans were. It never really came up.

Should I invite him home?

My mom would have a field day, fawning over the fact that he's a doctor while my dad cleans his gun collection out in the open, face red.

Hard pass.

Alice mentions applying for stylist jobs at some of the rich people salons and I wonder aloud how I am ever going to do any of the financial wizardry she does when she's gone.

"Shut up, you'll figure it out," she laughs and her eyes drop to her wine glass. Her smile turns bittersweet as she says, "God, we're like, basically adults now. And not totally sucking at it."

I fake a shudder and give her a pointed, but joking, look.

"Ugh, don't remind me."

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Edward's sitting on his couch when I return, the TV softly playing the Food Network, the lights low.

He looks...tired. Tired and kind of serene.

"Hey," I say, closing the door behind me. He looks up, lazy smile aimed right at me. "How'd it go?"

He waits for me to take off my shoes and snuggle next to him before he says, "actually pretty well."

"Yeah?" Not a bloodbath, then. Hopefully not the other option, either.

"Yeah, we talked for a while. I think she's starting to get it."

I look up at him, waiting for him to elaborate, his smile is still soft.

"That I wasn't happy living the life she wanted me to. That I'm happy now. With you especially. She said that she'd never seen a smile on me like the one in those pictures and that she missed me."

My heart leaps and squeezes and I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. He sighs, pulling me closer. My total and utter relief stings him, I can feel it in the way he presses his lips to my hair.

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I'm nervous about facing Thanksgiving with my parents without Em as a buffer. I watch him and Rose back out of the driveway, the clouds unable to commit to either rain _or_ snow as I trudge to the front door, pressing the doorbell too many times.

It's a small town, my dad's a cop, but he still always insists on keeping the door locked at all times.

I'm freezing and bordering on soaked by the time my mom swings the door open, deep in conversation on the phone and barely acknowledging my arrival. The house smells a little bit like burnt cookies and I can see my dad in front of the television, Sports Center humming and casting blue light on his face.

I drop my bag at the door— I brought enough clothes for three nights, the longest I've been home since two Christmases ago.

I wave to my dad and he throws be an apologetic smile while he says, "they're talking about tomorrow's game, apparently Ryan got injured in practice yesterday."

I don't know who Ryan is but I grimace in sympathy anyway, glancing towards the kitchen, where my mom remains on the phone.

My phone vibrates in my pocket as I linger in the hall, not sure where to go or what to do.

"Is it as bad there as it is here?" Edward asks, skipping the hello and sounding as uncomfortable as I feel. I grab my bag and slip up the stairs, exhaling at the sound of his voice.

"I feel like my presence is an inconvenience at the moment," I admit. I can almost hear his frown.

"I doubt very much that's true," he insists. "Is it Ryan? I'm watching it right now, he got hurt at practice. Didn't you say your dad's a big Falcons fan?"

I bark out a laugh, any anxiety I'd been feeling dissipating as he keeps talking, his voice soothing my nerves and bringing a feeling of home to...well, home.

I want to tell him that, as he tells me that he's always hated the way his steps echo in the hallways, frets over the awkward silences he's sure are going to happen over dinner.

"The holiday itself will be the worst," he says. "It's always a big thing, the whole family comes and asks me about school and my job and if I'm going to make lots of money and how my girlfriend is doing and did I mention the money thing?"

"Hmm, whatever will you tell them?" I tease, throwing myself onto my bed, kicking my feet up on the too clean quilt, wet shoes and all.

He laughs warmly, his voice low when he muses, "that I have an incredible girlfriend who I would definitely rather be with instead. And it's rude to talk about money, isn't it?"

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 **This story is winding down. I'm not sure on an exact chapter count, but sometime soonish.**


	35. Chapter 35

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When my parents meet Edward for the first time, it's an accident.

I think.

The week before Christmas, my mom announces that they're coming to visit, that they got a great deal on a place in California over the holiday, they need a romantic retreat so

I cut them off with plenty of _ewww_ s and say that's fine. I think they just want to leave their car at my place so they don't have to pay the airport fees.

Alice and Jasper are already in Texas, sending me tons of aren't- you-so-jealous pictures of their sunny day, and offered up their room for my parents to crash in.

"It might be kind of messy," Alice admits over the phone. "Feel free to mess with anything in there, but maybe avoid the nightstand drawer."

Knowing their weird sexual habits, I'm happy to comply.

As soon as I open the door, I know I can't let my parents stay there. I don't think even _I_ could stay there. It stinks of weed and perfume, discarded clothes and burned cds litter the floor and desk, empty wine bottles and make up scattered throughout.

I back out of the room, closing the door and realizing that they're going to have to take my room, and I'm stuck with the couch.

The night before they're supposed to show up, I close the shop early and meet Edward at my place, his arms full of cleaning supplies and beer.

"Let's do this," he says, so determined that I can't help but laugh.

In reality, he doesn't do much but keep me company. While I sweep the kitchen floor he sips his drink and points out spots I missed.

He laughs hard when I hide all his stuff in my closet and in drawers, making sure any traces of "a boy sleeps here" are gone.

"They don't know about me, do they?" he asks, amused. "Are you embarrassed of me?"

I throw a pillow at him.

"I think my mom would actually have a stroke if she knew I was dating a doctor. I would never hear the end of it."

He frowns and says, "I'd like to meet them at some point."

"Trust me, you don't." I tell him, rolling my eyes.

He's about to say more, I can tell, but the doorbell rings.

"Oh maybe that's the pizza," I sigh, my stomach rumbling in anticipation.

"I'll get it, you keep hiding the details of our sordid affair."

I hit him with another pillow on his way out the door.

It takes a solid minute to hear him call up the stairs, "Bella, your parents are here."

My stomach drops and I'm fucking flying down the stairs, nearly crashing right into Edward as I hit the bottom.

My dad's hovering by the door, face as red as mine probably is, and my mom is smiling a smile that only says, _gotcha._

"You're early," I breathe. "I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow."

Mom sets her purse down on the couch, smirking as my dad says, "your mother was anxious to see you."

Bullshit.

I want to curl into Edward's side, or at least grab his hand, but I know the second I do, it will turn into a Whole Thing.

"Are you going to introduce us to your _friend_ , Bella?" she asks coyly, feigning innocence.

And this is when I know that she _knew_. She did this on purpose-she knew I was seeing someone and knew I wasn't going to tell her shit about it.

I wonder briefly if I need to absolutely _kill Emmett_.

"This is Edward," I mumble, jerking my thumb at him so hard that I jab him in the chest.

I can tell that he's trying not to laugh as he steps around me, holding out his hand to first my father, then my mom.

"It's nice to meet you," he says in his charming voice.

And then the doorbell rings, pizza buying me just a little more time before the Inquisition.

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Edward had made fun of me when I said to order two pizzas, but as my parents devour one of them, we exchange a glance, my eyes teasing and leg pressing against his as we sit around the kitchen table.

Everyone starts asking questions at once.

Edward asks, "How was the drive?"

Mom begins her interrogation with, "How do you know Bella?"

Dad avoids everyone's eyes and wonders aloud, "I wonder how effective the locks on your doors are."

"You're such a cop," I laugh, but he frowns.

"This isn't the best part of town," he grumbles, obviously kind of uncomfortably be this entire fucking situation.

Join the club, Dad.

"And mom, Edward worked at the Starbucks by Ballard."

I watch her visibly deflate a little.

 _Bella's dating a barista_ doesn't exactly equal great small town bragging material.

She hesitates for a second though, the wheels visibly turning in her head.

" _Worked_? What do you do now, Edward?"

She watches me try to contain my panic and knows she's hit pay-dirt.

Edward squeezes my knee under the table, thoroughly enjoying himself.

"I'm doing my residency at Seattle Children's right now."

I swear to god it gets so quiet I think both my parents might actually drop dead, their mouths open and eyes completely alarmed.

I want to scream, "HE'S A DOCTOR, OKAY? I'M IN LOVE WITH A FUCKING DOCTOR I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY."

Oh my god, I'm in love with a fucking doctor.

I watch the way he answers their questions, his easy smile. He's used to talking about work, talking to old people about shit that they care about.

Nobody cares about how absolutely _good_ he is, about the way he always burns grilled cheese or the fact that he knows every word to _Goodfellas_ , that he wants to adopt a dog but knows he doesn't have enough time to actually do it.

He gives my parents his well-rehearsed story, the one about his career plans, but he doesn't tell them about this kids he helps save, or the kids he doesn't. They don't get to see how much he cares about each individual patient, how much everything weighs on him.

My mom keeps looking at me like, _how the hell did you snag a man like this?_

I can only shrug. _Who the fuck knows._

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When Edward leaves, I show them to my room and the bathroom, my dad relieved to finally take a shower.

"A doctor, huh?"

I remember Edward's words from so many months ago.

 _I don't want to be_ just _a doctor_.

"Mom," I groan, knowing that it's hopeless. His job is all she cares about. The status and security it implies.

"He seems very nice," she tells me.

"He is."

"And he makes you happy?" Mom asks, glancing around my room, her fingers running over the full notebooks on my dresser.

This question throws me, but I nod.

"You were such a weird, sullen kid, you know? Always writing in your notebooks, locking yourself in your room."

"Gee, thanks."

"I don't mean it in a bad way," she explains. "I just...worried about you. Emmett was your only friend, and then you started dating that trashy kid and moved away and I just figured...you'd end up homeless and unemployed, addicted to crack."

"Jesus christ, Mom." I feel tears burning in my eyes. Did she really have such a piss poor opinion of me?

"But now you're in school and you have a job and you're dating such a nice boy. I'm just...proud of you, is all."

I know her intentions are good, that she just wants me to know that I'm doing something right.

Finally.

But I can't help that bitterness settling in my chest like a stone-I'd been doing okay in Seattle. I'd made tons of friends, made a reputation for myself as a good musician. I was about to manage my own shop. I grew up a little bit but I wasn't all bad before, right?

"Thanks," I mumble, letting her hug me before I let her snoop through my room in peace, taking up my post on the couch.

Under the scratchy wool blanket Alice made from old sweaters, I text Edward an apology, _for everything_.

His response is fast: _We've both got parents who are a little bit much._

I want to laugh. A bit much?

Understatement of the year.

I take a breath. Emmett took tomorrow off so he could show them around the city while I'm at the shop, we're all getting dinner together and exchanging gifts. The next morning, I take them to the airport.

And then, I'm free and clear.

Merry fucking Christmas.

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	36. Chapter 36

**Ack! So sorry for that insane delay. I hate to say that work is crazy, but work is** _ **crazy.**_

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Christmas Day somehow turns into me hosting a holiday dinner, with Em and Rose and maybe even Edward.

"It's going to be a compromise," he says, staring out his bedroom window, his bare leg flush against mine. Snow is starting to fall, tentative flakes brushing against the window. "My parents usually go to some Christmas Eve party and we spend the next day together, but I told them I made other plans."

"You did?"

He smirks. "Yes. After Thanksgiving...I don't know. You guys are my other family, I want to spend the day with you."

And when he says shit like that, I bite my tongue to keep from saying those three words that are always at the back of my throat.

"So we're having dinner before the party. You're invited of course, but you don't have to come-it's really not a big deal. My mom just wanted me to extend the invitation."

I stare at him, but he won't look at me.

"I think she's trying," he says softly, shrugging. "We're getting take out."

In the end, I go with him, and it's not too bad. We actually go to his place ("neutral territory," he'd said) and he refuses to change out of his jeans and sweatshirt, which makes me feel better about my own casual outfit.

I sit on his living room floor across from his mom, watching her pretend like the food in front of her doesn't completely gross her out. She fidgets with her no-doubt cashmere sweater and for the first time I get the feeling that maybe _she's_ nervous.

She asks me about the shop, if I've got any pictures. I scoot next to her, my shoulder at her waist as she leans down to see my phone. Her tone gets almost professional as she appraises the outdated floor, and she actually sounds impressed when I show her the upstairs.

"I can't take all the credit," I say. "Edward sacrificed so many days-off for the cause."

He ducks his head, shrugging and warmth blooms in my chest at the memory.

His parents look at him, unsure, and it's almost painful to see how hard they're trying. I only hope that it gets easier for them, because when Edward locks eyes with me, all warmth and happiness, I realize that it really doesn't fucking matter.

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The ham won't cook.

It just won't.

Edward keeps attempting to move me out of the way, asking, "can I just look at it?"

Emmett and Rose are chomping potato chips as loudly as they can in response to the fact that this fucking ham was supposed to be at 140 degrees two hours ago.

"This oven just _sucks_. It doesn't fucking WORK."

He steps past me, inspecting the thermometer before he just cranks up the dial on the oven to like, 500 degrees.

And in the end, the ham is nearly three hours late and the outside is burnt to a fucking crisp, but we're sitting around the table, Christmas music playing softly from the other room and Emmett keeps toasting everyone so that we'll keep drinking, and it's...perfect.

Edward plays with my hair while we lay around, all of us in and out of food comas, and I scribble in my new leather-bound notebook (courtesy of Em). I'm feeling sentimental and my messy words reflect it-

 _We're sitting 'round the kitchen table_

 _It kinda feels like family but a little more unstable_.

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We ring in the New Year with a gig, all of us drunk and dressed way too nice for the dive bar we're in and we cover Alice's favorite song-because it's acoustic and it allow Jasper to call her onto the stage, drop down to one knee, and ask her tearfully to marry him.

Edward holds me tightly as we watch them sway together to the next band's set, Jasper's grandmother's ring shimmering in the blue and red lights. His embrace helps quell the anxiety trying to work its way into my chest. Alice and Jasper are getting married, Shelley is planning her retirement-it feels like we're all growing up so fucking fast.

But Edward rests his chin on my shoulder, his lips pressing lightly to my jaw and that feeling of nervousness is replaced with an anxious sort of readiness.

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We spend February in non-stop motion. Edward's rotation changes and he's trying to play catch up at work, he lets his stubble grow out too much and forgets to eat dinner. Alice is bordering on Bridezilla already, wanting everything to be absolutely perfect by June 6th-the wedding date-because she's impatient and in love and a total pain in the ass. As the maid of honor (and her best friend) I am her sounding board at all hours of the day and night. We're already spending evenings folding paper cranes for "the most beautiful backdrop."

And it wouldn't be that bad if Shelley didn't have one foot in Florida, the other inching out of Ballard music every passing day. Her daughter-in-law is pregnant and Shelley wants to be down there as soon as she can to help.

Which means that I'm drowning in paperwork and tax information and all this business-y bullshit that I barely have a grasp on. My only saving grace is Em, who is walking me through as much as he can.

My parents can hear the stress in my voice when they call-which is saying something because that means they're actually listening to me for once. I start getting checks in the mail every couple of weeks, 50 bucks here, 100 there and they yell at me everytime I tell them to stop.

"For food," they say.

I save it all instead, thinking of that empty room at the shop, ready and waiting to be put to use.

.

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.

At the beginning of April, Edward takes a week off work and convinces me that the shop will most definitely not collapse into chaos if I join him for a vacation. We take his car and drive down the coast, staying in cabins in the woods and Air BnB's in town, working our way out of Washington and into Oregon. We stop at Seaside and marvel at Haystack Rock and Edward points out all the filming locations for _The Goonies_.

We get donuts in Portland and see a couple of shows, meeting up with some friends I know from the scene for too many beers, and we crash on their floor when we're too tired to keep going.

It takes us most of the whole next day to not only recover from awful hangovers, but to drive down to San Francisco, and then another day to enjoy California. We go thrifting and look at other music stores, my leatherbound notebook filling with ideas for Ballard. On our way out, we stop at Muir Woods and Edward tries (and fails) to take a full length photo of a redwood tree and we make out on the nearby beach until I'm sunburned and dizzy.

The fourteen hour drive home is easy, we're sandy and tired and eat too many snacks, but we stop whenever we see a view we like and Edward lets me pick all the music.

We're barely back in Washington and at a rest stop, getting sodas at three a.m. when he kisses me, smiling the whole time.

This is the first time he tells me he loves me.

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 **song: 'stove lighter' by camp cope**

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 **There's maybe one more lil chapter and then a lil epilogue to this thang. Thanks for sticking with me.**


	37. Chapter 37

**This is it folks. Last chapter. Thank you for being here through this, for sticking with me, for reading, leaving reviews and pimping this story out.**

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Shelly leaves on May 3rd. It's especially rainy and it matches my mood.

I cry the the whole time I'm at the shop, so much so that she threatens to call Edward to come pick me up.

At the same time, I think it makes her a little sad, too. I'm her favorite employee, after all.

"It's more than that," she tells me when I tease her about it at lunch. "I feel like you're my own. I've seen you grow up, but now it's time to leave the nest."

"But I'm not leaving," I say, my voice cracking. "You are."

"Bella, I swear to god if you don't stop this."

"I'm just going to miss you," I mumble because fuck, I am. It feels like she's my own, too.

At the end of the day, she tries to hand me her keys to the shop but I refuse to take them.

"You'll have to come back to visit," I insist and though she rolls her eyes, she puts them in her purse.

Jasper and I stand outside with her as she locks up, both of us uncertain and sad as she putters around. When she looks at us again, her eyes are wet with tears.

"You know, when my husband and I opened this store, it was his life. And then he died and it still felt like if I had the store, I still had him. Ever since our boy moved to Florida, I've been wanting to follow him, but I was so afraid that if I left this place, I'd be letting him down," she sniffles and reaches towards me, cupping my face in her hands. "But I see how much you care for it, how good you are at this, and I know that he'd be happy-proud, even, that another young music lover is getting to keep his legacy going. I just want to say thank you, Bella, for all you've done and all you will do."

I cling to her, both of us sobbing and making Jasper uncomfortable when we pull him in for a group hug.

We watch her get on her bus, staring after it until it turns a corner, leaving us both in silence for a moment before Jasper has an idea.

"You wanna get drunk and play music?"

"Fuck yes."

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We write songs all night, wasted and laughing and having so, so much fun. Alice dyes Rosalie's hair while we play and Em plucks along on my bass, tired from work. Edward just watches us, sipping his own drink with the smallest of smiles.

We're giggly and I'm playing some sick riffs, my voice warbly as I sing, _if this is playing grown up, hold my hair back as I throw up_.

Jasper chimes in, _under sheets with all my toes up-_

I join back in and we're hysterical, _wasting awaaaaaaay._

I feel like the anxiety I have over running the shop is spilling into nervous, unshakeable laughter.

 _It's actually fucked,_

 _I keep in pace,_

 _53 complaints I'm ill-equipped to face._

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It's nearly three by the time I crawl into bed, Edward trailing behind me groggily.

"I'm sorry I kept you up so long," I sigh into his neck.

He mumbles sleepily, "you didn't."

"What if I fuck this all up?" I say, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling and suddenly feeling so small I might disappear.

He sits up, leaning on his elbow and shooting me a stern look.

"You're not going to fuck this up. You haven't even tried yet. And even if you do, you'll be okay."

"Maybe."

"Bella," he groans, laying back on the mattress next to me.

"I'll still have you?"

He smiles then, amused.

"You'll still have me."

It helps a little.

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The next day, I'm hungover and feeling weird when I get to the shop. It's quiet, Shelly's usual music is missing.

It feels empty and it hurts my heart.

I hang my coat up in Shelly's-my (holy shit)-office and take a second to sit in the swivel chair and catch my breath.

That's when I see the note.

It's Edward's handwriting-messy and boyish.

 _You've got this. Check out upstairs when you have a chance. I love you._

My stomach flutters with absolute adoration. I have ten minutes until I have to open the shop. Fifteen minutes until Jasper rolls in and apologizes for being late.

I take the stair two at a time, finding the door already unlocked. I wonder when he found time to do this. How he even got in.

I suspect Alice.

In the room, in the dull glow of the gray morning light, there's a camera on a tripod in the center, a red bow stuck to the top of it.

My breath catches. It's a nice ass camera.

A professional camera, with a big lens and everything.

The note taped to it says, _for your spare room recording sessions._

It hits me then, that I have someone that really, truly believes I can do this. I've spent so much of my life feeling incapable and like I'm disappointing everyone around me, and here's someone who spent a shitload of money to support a dream I have.

Tears spring into my eyes and I fight them the whole time I go about opening the shop, flipping light switches and putting music on, drifting through the tinny speakers. I flip the sign to _open_ and unlock the door, taking a breath.

I wish I had time to savor this moment, to commit it to memory-with the warmth of knowing that I can probably do this.

As the bell above the door chimes, a tired looking girl comes in looking for a new bow for her cello, I wish someone was here with me, that I wasn't facing this alone. I wish Edward was here.

The door chimes again. More customers.

The nervousness climbs my throat but I feel the note he'd written me in my back pocket. I know that he'll be waiting for me when I get home, and for now, it's enough.

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 **song: 'urge to purge' by charly bliss**

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 **lil epilogue is coming soon.**


	38. Epilogue

_**City Scene Seattle**_

 _ **May 8th, 2021**_

 _ **Interview by Eric Yorkie**_

 _ **An Interview with Bella Swan, owner of Ballard Music and creator of Spare Room Sessions.**_

When I meet Bella Swan, she's in the middle of fitting a young boy for a violin. She smiles at him and assures the mother that his fingers will callous soon enough, and pressing the strings won't always hurt.

So far today, she's met with an investor, given three guitar lessons and solved a crisis involving some mis-priced CDs.

It's not even noon.

During her break, I follow her through a back storage room and up an ominous set of stairs that leads to the famous Spare Room. While she eats her leftover takeout, she answers my questions about how the 26 year old has managed to create a shop with a devoted customer base and a Youtube channel that averages 25,000 views a video.

Eric Yorkie: _So, you've owned Ballard Music for about three years now?_

Bella Swan: Not exactly, I started managing it a few years ago, but I didn't officially own the shop until earlier this year. Shelly, the previous owner, gave me a great deal on it. She moved to Florida and I think she just wants to...be free of it. Enjoy her golden years at the beach.

EY: _It's not easy to keep a shop like this alive in today's Spotify climate. How do you keep your customers coming back?_

BS: We've got a little community here. People still give a shit about small businesses, and people still want to hold a record in their hands. The shop's been around for so long, it's part of this neighborhood in a way that Amazon can't compete with. Plus hipsters love this shit.

EY: _I saw a few signed posters for sale downstairs...I bet those move quickly._

BS: [ _laughs_ ] They do, I mean, so many of my friends are so successful now, I make them sign some when they stop by to say hey. My friend, Jake [from the band Lone Wolves] always says that I'm exploiting him.

EY: _You used to play with the Lone Wolves, is that right?_

BS: Not exactly. Jake and Leah and I used to jam out and write songs together, but it wasn't in any kind of official capacity.

EY: _But you did tour with them, correct?_

BS: I was just filling in for Jane when she broke her arm.

EY: _You're a really talented musician. Do you ever think about leaving all this behind and performing professionally._

BS: Thank you. I like playing music, but I don't want it to feel like a job, you know? That month on the road was so fun, but I missed this place like crazy.

EY: _Understandable. You've built quite the life here for yourself. By the time this article gets published, you'll be married, right?_

BS: Almost, in June. But yeah, no one is more surprised than I am by how much everything is working out _[laughs]_. But Edward, my fiancee, he was my biggest cheerleader that first year. He was actually the one who got Spare Room Sessions off the ground-he wouldn't let me quit.

EY: _Speaking of Spare Room Sessions-did you expect for it to be as big as it is?_

BS: Oh hell no. I thought it was going to just be some fun, little thing I'd do with my friends. But I've got bands stopping in to record on their way to the Paramount [Theatre] or the Showbox. Bands I'd idolized when I was growing up want to come play music in my little room, it's totally insane.

 _The room in question, pictured below, is a music lover's paradise. The walls are graffitied by those who've played here and there are polaroids taped to the walls. A couple of worn, but plush sofas are against the walls, reserved for the lucky few who manage to get tickets to a session [see the Ballard Music website for details on how to get one]._

EY: _You've played a couple of sessions here as well. You've got a new song out,_ Different Now, _available for pay-what-you-want on the store's website. Can you talk about that a little bit?_

BS: The sessions I play here are mostly just to test out new equipment [ _laughs_ ]. And I'm a songwriter, it's just what I love and it's really just for me. But people keep bugging me about sharing the songs, so I've just made them available. All the profits get put towards Spare Room anyway. As for the new song, it's one I'm proud of.

EY: _It feels like a ballad to a younger you._

BS: I guess it is, in a way. I spent a lot of time thinking that I was screwing everything up, that I wasn't doing enough to be successful, that everyone was so underwhelmed by everything I did and that just...wasn't the case. I'm hard on myself, you know? Sometime you have to be, but at some point you have to recognize that everything you're doing is a way of working towards _something_ , and sometimes, that's enough.

EY: _Like you say in the song, "You'll find in time, all the answers that you seek, have been sitting there just waiting to be seen. Take away your pride and take away your grief, and you'll finally be right where you need to be."_

BS: I'm cringing! Stop! [ _laughs_ ]. But yes just like it says in the song.

 _ **EY,**_ **City Scene Seattle.**

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 **song: 'different now' by chastity belt**

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 **i can't believe this is over. thanks for joining B on her little journey :')**

 **I've got something else cookin' so i'm sure you'll hear from me again with something new at some point.**

 **all my love.**


End file.
